


Turnabout Tactics: Mens Rea

by The_Erudite



Category: Fire Emblem Series, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 178,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Erudite/pseuds/The_Erudite
Summary: Robin LeBlanc is an upstart attorney, granted a firm all his own by his vanished mentor. Well... "firm" might be overstating it, since it's just the building and one secretary. When Robin gets a call from an old friend one evening, his world and the legal world in Ylisse begin to change forever.
Kudos: 7





	1. The Blacklight Turnabout: Investigation

[October 2nd, 2:56 am. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The office was coated in a dark blue, in those areas that caught little shafts of light from the old blinds that bent and didn't cover the entirety of the window. Otherwise, outside and inside the building was mostly blackness, making most of the topography of the little room indiscernible. The young attorney was sprawled out on the old leather sofa that sat in the middle of the room. It was maroon, and worn and sagging in numerous spots due to overuse, but with a throw pillow placed lovingly on the armrest, it made as good a spot as any other to sleep. Of course, his bed was only a few feet away, in the next room, which was locked tightly during business hours, but he lacked the energy: papers were strewn about the handsome little glass and mahogany coffee table that was the office's lone indicator of any air of professionalism. Some of them were legal in nature, developments in case law of which an attorney would need to keep apprised, but most were bills, menacingly circled and underlined in thick red ink. Their edges were folded at random, and they were only loosely organized in order of due date.

At once, a white light filled the center of the room, casting that same bluish glow on the office's features. Seconds later, it was accompanied by a small electronic tone and the sounds of vibration. The young attorney's eyes strained against the sudden bright light as he groped blindly for his phone. Eventually, to his great relief, he found it, and tapped the button on the screen, pushing it to his ear. "Mmhello?" he muttered into it, his voice hoarse. The voice on the other end sounded familiar, but the attorney's eyes remained closed, and he failed to process the information over the incredibly powerful desire to remain asleep.

"Are you listening to me, Robin?" the voice finally demanded. Robin assured the caller that he was, and allowed the conversation to continue with a few mutters of interest so as to pretend he was paying careful attention to the story. He caught only blurbs, but they were enough. When prison was mentioned, his ears pricked up. "So... you're there right now?" the attorney mumbled, itching his temple. "Yeah," he repeated into the phone a few times as inquiries were made. "Well, don't talk to anyone else," his dazed attorney's mind counseled, "Just... just tell 'em you're waiting for your lawyer. You don't have to say anything." He yawned. Concern dripped into his ear from the other end. "I know," he said in a way that was not as common as his still-sleeping mind presumed, "They won't let me in this late. In the morning. Yes... Yes... Uh-huh. Okay, try to get a little sleep. ...I'm sure, but try anyway. ...Don't. Good. Yeah, morning. Bright and early, okay? Okay, g'bye." Feeling blood rushing into his head, the attorney grimaced, tapped his phone, and tucked the item back into his pocket, shutting his eyes and lowering himself onto the throw pillow once more.

* * *

[October 2nd, 9:03 am. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

A gust of air stirred up a few locks of his hair. The young attorney felt his eyelids squeeze and he subconsciously pushed up from the pillow, swiping a paw at his face, in part to obscure the daylight and in part to quickly remove any drool that might have emerged in his sleep. He smacked his lips together a few times and fluttered his eyelids to ensure that he was really awake, then sat up and grasped the couch, unsure of himself in sitting still for a few seconds. He gazed dully at the wall until someone steps in front of his view. "Good morning, sunshine," she smirked, her lips dripping with irony.

"Uh, morning," the attorney managed to reply, recovering from the shock. It doesn't take long to understand who he's seeing, however. The woman was tall, curly ruby-red bangs adorning her head, wrapped up into a neat ponytail that hung just slightly below the back. She was dressed in a black sweater, covered by a ruby vest (a favorite of hers) and a warm gray-and-yellow striped skirt that was of a conservative length. She also sported a pair of lethally professional black heels and two gold earrings that swung in a ridiculous fashion whenever she moved. "You're here early, Ms. Vendise," the young attorney coughed out. Anna Vendise, his secretary and financial adviser. Although, to say "his" was unfair: Anna had started working as a secretary for the firm years before Robin had, but with the departure of its founder, Robin was the only one left who could be considered her employer.

"Don't call me that." She smiled, pulling a plastic trash bag out of a cupboard and fitting it into the can that sat by her desk. "You make me feel like your grandma. My name's Anna."

"Sorry," he mumbled, standing up. He went over to his desk, tucked away in a room on the other edge of the central corridor. The desk was a polished maroon wood, very beautiful and official-looking, surrounded by classical and legal literature that made it all the more impressive. Robin would be surprised if he had managed to read even half of those books in his time here. The small placard on the desk designated it to one "Robin LeBlanc," a fair-skinned young man who was a little too eager to jump into a suit, but couldn't stand having to wear a tie. They always choked him. Again, however, it felt insulting to suggest that this desk belonged to him: a few months ago, his office was a stack of binders arranged on the coffee table, and the placard on this desk read "Fado Verlaine." Fado was a significantly more impressive-looking fellow, one that you'd trust with your life from the minute you saw him: cerulean hair, a square jaw with a rugged beard, but large gray eyes, both compassionate and sagely. He was the type of man you could trust with a secret, and with desperation.

A sprightly but untrained attorney inspired strictly the opposite reaction, however. Why Fado had ever decided to grace him with the run of the building, Robin couldn't guess. Maybe the old man could see that the area was going south and Robin was the only sucker foolish enough to be willing to pay to take over the space. That would explain why the building's few other employees also vanished, except for Anna. "And," Robin uttered, stepping back out from the darkened office, "sorry about yesterday. Here you go." He dropped a check onto the desk.

Anna stopped pecking at her laptop and looked down at it. "What's this?"

"Your check," Robin said and shrugged, "I got it sorted out."

Anna grasped the paper and read it carefully: $2,680, made out in her name. "I thought you said you couldn't afford it right now." She eyed the document suspiciously.

"I got it sorted out," the attorney repeated.

She stared at him for a minute, trying to glean something, then gave up and smiled, stowing the check in her purse. "Well, thanks, boss man."

"Don't call me that, either," he requested, "I'm not really... Fado's the boss."

"He did look more equipped to run a joint," she answered sarcastically.

"So," Robin settled himself and let out a sigh, "How are we looking, Ms. Master of Finances?"

"We'll be looking much better when we get ourselves a client." Anna frowned at the empty spreadsheet displayed on her computer, following it up with a disapproving glance at the empty office.

Robin's lip pouted, too, hearing what wasn't really news to him. They had been without a client since the greenhorn attorney took over, and that was quickly becoming a significant problem. But then the young attorney remembered something and clicked his tongue, "That's right."

"What's right?" his secretary glanced up.

He pulled his coat off the rack and slipped it over his arms. "I actually think I might have a client for us."

"Really?!" Anna's eyebrows jumped up in shock.

"Yeah." Robin nodded with less enthusiasm. "I got a call from an old friend last night, she's run into a spot of trouble. Asked me to come down to the detention center; I told her I'd be there first thing in the morning."

"Well, what are you standing around for?" Anna scoffed, "Get going!"

"Obviously," he huffed, "Will you be okay by yourself? It might take a while."

"Oh, no, not time to work by myself in peace," the secretary said, rolling her eyes, "Anything but that."

"Just make sure we're not robbed or something while I'm out." The attorney smiled back. Anna saluted affirmatively and went back to her laptop.

The elevator ride from the eleventh floor of the old building seemed to take forever on that particular day. The elevators were always slow and unreliable, frequently taking several minutes after being called to finally arrive, but today was the worst: Robin hadn't felt the pressure of a deadline in weeks, if not months. When he reached the lobby, cold air was sweeping into the building as people drifting into the space from the streets intermittently threw the glass doors open. Robin pushed past a few of them and made his way down to the parking lot to jump in his old black car, the interior of which was already ten degrees colder than outside. He cranked up the heat as soon as he started it, but the vents always started by spewing a bit more cold air into the vehicle before it warmed up. Robin shivered; the sky stood steel-gray. There was a thirty percent chance of rain.

As he pulled out of the lot and down the street, Robin switched on the radio, which began in the middle of a news report. The attorney liked to listen to talk shows on his usual drives, but the station only broadcast news between 8 and 9 am. He shrugged and listened in.

"...in the murder of Harken Gaetz, a ranking Ylissean military official. Gaetz was beloved by many in the Ylissean military for his brotherly treatment of the men under his command and his strict adherence to codes of honorable conduct. Gaetz was awarded Ylisse's 'Soaring Pegasus' medal last summer for his exemplary leadership during the Plegian terrorist conflicts some twenty years ago. A biography focused on Gaetz's life was reportedly in the works, but now that book will have a sad conclusion. Once again, that's Sergeant Harken Gaetz, 55, murdered in his home overnight. This is Mitchell Konway, reporting for HNB news."

"Thanks Mitchell," a different broadcaster took over, "and this incident will likely complicate efforts which have been spuriously reported starting last week that the Ylissean government is in talks with Plegia on the idea of creating a supranational organization responsible for bridging the gap and ameliorating tense relations between both nations..."

Robin changed the station. He doubted that. He had learned a lot about Ylisseans in coming to their country to study law, and the most resonant of those lessons was that they were a mixed bag, at best. Some were incredibly kind and magnanimous, like Fado, but others were... Others didn't care much for Plegians. For his kind. And more than anything, their system of justice was skewed. Ylisse had once been a military dictatorship (they called it something else, but that's what it was) and their culture had maintained a few elements of it, namely that defendants charged with capital offenses, such as murder, were presumed guilty until proven innocent. The Ylisseans had tremendous trust in their law enforcement and investigators.

Robin turned down the loud classic rock he had switched to as he pulled up into the detention center parking lot. When he hopped out and entered the door, a few cops stood outside, huddled near the door in heavy coats, sipping steaming cups of coffee. The all glanced sideways at the young attorney as he entered. He tried to give them a friendly wave, but they ignored him. When Robin entered, the cobalt-walled room was not much warmer than outside, but, as was standard procedure, Robin hung up his coat next to a thin, young policeman who gave him a stiff salute. Robin heard family members and friends mumbling through the microphones in front of the plexiglass, plenty of rueful faces and voices sitting on the other side. Once he checked in with the clerk and flashed his license, Robin grabbed a green folding chair and took a seat, looking ahead.

In front of him, a girl with raven-black hair and a disinterested look in her bag-heavy eyes had her brow jump up a bit. She gripped the underside of her seat delicately with her fingers as she adjusted herself, then beamed her eyes forward, waiting. "Hello, Tharja," Robin spoke calmly into the mic.

She flushed and smiled. "Hello, Robin."

"Sorry I couldn't be here earlier," he said, rubbing his neck.

"Don't worry about it," she assured him, "How've you been? You look great."

It was his turn to blush. "Thanks. I'm doing okay, got myself a private firm now."

She gasped and put her palm in front of her mouth. "So soon? Wow."

He smirked. "It's not as wonderful as it seems. Anyway, what are you doing in Ylisse?"

"Didn't I tell you?" She cocked an eyebrow. "I said I was going to follow in your footsteps, get schooled here, and bring that knowledge back home."

"You're not studying law, are you?"

"No, nothing like that. Sociology, psychology, that kind of thing."

"That always seemed more your wheelhouse. Where are you staying?"

"I was with a foster family..."

"'Was...?'"

The raven-haired girl stared at her feet. "Why do you think I'm in here, Robin?"

"I assumed you'd tell me," he said, sitting back.

"They charged me with murder, Robin." She stared at him, eyes gleaming. "Murdering the man who gave me my foster home."

Robin LeBlanc swallowed. "Heavy charge. And you're a Plegian... they can't be happy about that."

"They're not," she agreed, "And he was a soldier, so it's all the worse."

"What's his name?" Robin fished a notepad out of his pocket and readied a pen.

"Harken. Harken Gaetz," she answered.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Harken Gaetz? The guy that was in the news this morning?"

"It's in the news?" Tharja bit her lip. "Oh, Grima... they'll be all over me. They'll want my head on a pike."

"Try to keep calm, Tharja," her counselor advised, "Just tell me what happened."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, "Well, it all started yesterday. I came home from classes, nothing unusual. Typically, I'd go out with a few other Plegians I've met since coming here, and we'd do something... usually just hang out in a café, or something... But I'm getting distracted, yesterday, I felt really sick to my stomach, so I told Mr. Gaetz and his wife that I was going to bed early. I totally passed out when I got in bed, and I slept the whole night away, but I woke up around two in the morning to police yelling at me, shining flashlights and pointing guns."

"That's it?" Robin looked up from his notes.

"That's it," she confirmed, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Gaetz. I only saw his body when I came downstairs."

"Well," Robin supposed, "that doesn't sound like much. Why'd they arrest you, then?"

"What do you mean?" she wondered.

"Evidence," he elaborated, "what have they got that points to you?"

Tharja Anderra shook her head. "If you think they told me, you're crazy, Robin."

The young attorney chewed his lip a moment and nodded. "I guess you're right. It'a a hell of a spot to put you in, though. Do you have Mr. Gaetz's address?"

She gave it to him.

"All right," Robin noted it, "Well... I don't have much to go on, but I'll get down there and check things out." He dropped a white sheet of printer paper into the mail slot beside them. "Mind signing this for me?"

Tharja paused, eyes gleaming again. "Does that mean... you accept?"

The attorney put away his notebook and cocked an eyebrow, "'Accept?' You mean 'will I be your lawyer?' Of course, I thought I had given that impression over the phone."

The girl knitted her fingers together. "W-Well, I wasn't sure, given that there was so much counting against me already... I figured you could find better cases."

Robin scoffed. "I don't think you realize how desperate I really am, Tharja. And besides, this isn't just any old case: this is a favor to an old friend."

She blushed and buried her head in her bangs. "...Thank you." She signed the sheet and pushed it back through the slot. Robin took it and nodded.

"You're welcome." He smiled at her, picking himself up from the chair.

Robin LeBlanc signed himself out and retrieved his coat from the young policeman, and stepped out to find the same group of police still huddled around and drinking their coffee. They still ignored the attorney as he passed by, but he didn't really notice this time. Instead, he hurried into his car and blasted the heat when it turned on. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the office.

A pleasant voice chirped on the other end, "LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices. How can I help you?"

"It's me, Anna," Robin replied.

"Oh." He wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. "Well, what's up?"

"I'm taking the case," he responded simply.

"Great," her voice grew higher, "What's the name? I can do a little digging."

"Tharja Anderra," he answered.

The phone was silent.

"Still there, Anna?" Robin demanded.

"Not the Tharja Anderra who killed Harken Gaetz?"

"Was _charged_ with killing Harken Gaetz."

"Are you crazy?! That's your first case?! That's committing career suicide before you've even gotten started!"

"So far, I haven't even heard the evidence against her."

"It's bad, Robin, I'm telling you."

"I'll see for myself."

"Robin-"

He tapped the screen. Sliding the phone back in his pocket, Robin pulled out of the lot and headed for the address.

* * *

[October 2nd, 12:32 pm. Gaetz Home]

The house wasn't brilliant, but it wasn't shabby, either. Very "bourgeois," a real estate agent might say, or so Robin thought, anyway. It was a simple brick manse, two stories, windows on each floor. Of course, the driveway was packed full of squad cars, and police tape cordoned off the entryway to the house. As Robin left his car and strolled up the sidewalk, a cobalt-haired man in a long, heavy-looking sea-green trenchcoat that looked to big for him, accompanied by an unconvincingly-tied black tie approached him, a thin, unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Hold it," the man demanded, "Where are you going?"

"Inside, if possible." He smiled weakly.

The young man was not impressed. "It's a crime scene, bud. Can't let just anybody come strollin' through."

The attorney nodded. "That's fair. What if I told you I'm the attorney for the defendant?"

The man leered at him suspiciously. "Got an affidavit, bud?"

Robin opened his coat pocket and produced the document that bore Tharja's signature, handing it over to the young man.

He read it scrupulously, then handed it back after a moment. "All right, looks legit. 'LeBlanc,' huh? Have I heard'a you somewhere before, bud?"

"I used to work for Mr. Fado Verlaine."

"Ah, yeah, Verlaine. Real hard-nosed guy, that one. Liked him. Sad to see him leave, but the show must go on, eh?"

Robin nodded, waiting for the young man to finish his reverie.

"Anyhow," he shrugged and extended a hand, "I'm Detective Colm Fletcher, lead investigator."

"Nice to meet you, detective," Robin took the hand and shook it. After they exchanged pleasantries, he led Robin into the house, pointing out the body of the victim first, not that that really needed pointing out: it was the first thing one saw upon entering the room. A tall, broad-shouldered, muscular blond man, his face hard and stretched with wrinkles, sat slumped over on an old green sofa, a wickedly curved knife stemming out of his chest.

"Cause of death was that little fella, if you can't tell," Detective Fletcher noted, "Very precise stab, right to the ol' ticker. Mr. Gaetz was killed instantly; 'sudden cardiac arrest' is what the eggheads call it, I think."

"The victim was stabbed straight in the heart?" Robin summarized, surprised.

"Yeah." The detective nodded, "Real precise stab, too, no nicks or anything, that we can see, anyway. Autopsy will be later today, but I doubt they'll find much else. There wasn't even a lot of blood."

Robin's attention was diverted as he noticed a scrap of paper, hidden, as it was matted to the dead man's chest. It seemed to bear writing. The attorney walked up and read the note as best he could: "'This lamb dies on the altar of truth.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"Got me," Colm shrugged, "But the knife what killed him is a ritual sacrificial knife. It was kept in the defendant's bedroom here, and it had her fingerprints all over it."

Robin nodded silently. He had something to say about that, but it was better not to interrupt the detective. Any point he could make would be better made in court. "Mind if I just have a quick look around?"

"Sure," the detective assented, lighting his cigarette, "but don't touch anything. Disrupting evidence will land you with a lawsuit all your own, and, of course, your case will be moot. But I don't have to tell you that."

Robin nodded again; he didn't. As he strolled around the house, the attorney drifted into the dining room. He looked over the table, a silk white cloth adorning it. A few brass candleholders sporting scarlet candles sat on top of it. Very ritzy, especially for a military man like Gaetz. But also a trifle dirty: there were some dark spots near the ends of the tablecloth. Someone was hiding them, probably to avoid his wife noticing, Robin chuckled. He drifted upstairs and examined the bedrooms: there were only two, and a big master bathroom sat between them. The bathroom was spotless, most likely cleaned very recently, and thus, not much help. He walked into one bedroom, just a bit smaller than the front room of the house and sporting a split aesthetic: some of the room was dainty and proper, including the lacy white sheets and throw pillows on the bed, but everywhere one looked there was a military uniform or patch hanging on something. Presumably, it was the victim and his wife's room. Robin searched the area carefully, but found no blood or hair, only a few crinkles in the sheets, as if someone had gotten up suddenly that evening.

The attorney proceeded to the other bedroom, Tharja's, and chuckled a bit: it looked like a Plegian cultural exhibition one might see in a museum: she had old Grimleal candles and books strewn all about the room, plus traditional female Grimleal garments on the floor and hanging in her closet, along with some more modest and less extravagant street clothes. Robin noted a pair of nails driven into a high part of the wall by the window, like hangers for something. Perhaps this was where the dagger was meant to sit. The attorney made a mental note and stepped out, finding it a bit stuffy in the room.

As he descended the stairs, Detective Fletcher was waiting for him, smoking. "Find what you were hoping for?"

Robin chuckled, "Not exactly, but I'm certainly no worse off than before."

Colm nodded. "You never do. That's why you just gotta keep lookin'."

The attorney nodded quietly as they left the house. "Are you testifying tomorrow, detective?"

He blew a big puff of smoke. "Hell, I'm the lead investigator, aren't I?"

"Just figured I'd ask," he dismissed, "Do you know who the prosecutor is?"

"Nah," he popped the cigarette back in his mouth, then blew out another puff, "but I don't think it's anyone special. Prob'ly just one o' those old guys who do mostly clerical work."

"Really?" Robin cocked an eyebrow. "They don't want someone big working such an important case?"

"You're overstating it, just like the news." Colm smirked. "It's a bad thing that Plegian chick did, no doubt, and people are pissed, but the case itself is open-and-shut; there's no doubt it was her."

"Maybe." Robin didn't look at him.

"Plus, the prosecutor's office isn't going to waste any of the big names' time with a rookie attorney," the detective added.

Robin cocked an eyebrow. "How'd they know about that?"

"News travels fast." Detective Fletcher shrugged, his cell phone sticking out from his pocket.

The attorney got back into his car. "Well, thanks anyway, Detective Fletcher. See you at the trial."

"Yeah, sure thing, bud." He inhaled from his cigarette.

* * *

[October 2nd, 1:57 pm. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin swung the door open and flung his coat on the rack, sighing and massaging his hands with his face. He had been through this process so many times before with Fado, but now, faced with the prospect of having to assemble a case all by himself, he was completely petrified. He had seen things, sure, but what could he say to an impatient judge and jury that would convince them of Tharja's innocence? Right now, he wasn't even sure he could convince himself: everything did essentially point to the Plegian girl. He couldn't fault the Ylissean police for being prejudiced or anything to that effect: they had made the right arrest, under the circumstances, but a few things remained stubbornly vague: who and where was Gaetz's wife, and what had happened with that knife? Tharja claimed she was fast asleep the entire evening, so someone might have entered the room, but only Harken or his wife would have been present to do so. Robin bit his lip: a Ylissean jury would not accept a suicide or a wife murdering her husband over a Plegian whackjob of a girl. Those were possible, but he would have to play his cards very carefully if he tried to go there.

"Feeling some of the pressure?" Anna quipped, looking up from her laptop.

"I have my work cut out for me," the attorney conceded, "I never dreamt it would be easy, though."

"I still have to lobby against taking such a high-profile case. Who cares what happens to one Plegian girl?" Anna typed away.

"She's a friend," Robin reminded her.

His secretary paused. "Sorry. That was harsher than I meant it to be, but c'mon, do you really think you can convince people that she's innocent?"

"I have to try," he supposed, "she is, after all."

"And how do you know that?" Anna rolled her eyes.

"I trust her." Robin nodded to himself. "There was a certain look in her eyes... Fado taught me to watch for it. Guilty people don't look like she did."

"Whatever you say." The redhead shrugged. "But people are going to hate you regardless of the outcome. Even if she really is innocent, people are going to think you just twisted the facts to find her not guilty."

"Then let them think that," the attorney rebutted, "maybe we can get a few other people in here desperate for us to 'twist the facts' for them."

"Tenacious about this one, huh?" Anna leered over her desk.

"I have to be," the attorney answered. He stood up and proceeded into Fado's old office.

"What are you up to now?" Anna Vendise wondered.

"I'm going to brush up on my trial law," Robin replied, shutting the door and pulling a few of the old books down from the shelves, full of the musty smell of old literature and the complex terminology of legality that made them nigh-incomprehensible even with training and instruction. He would continue reading them long into the evening, hearing Anna's keys jingle as she packed up and sounded a muffled goodbye through the door. When he finished perusing the first book, the clock showed 8:31. Robin got up. He threw together a cheese sandwich and grabbed a soda from the office's fridge and went back to the room, popping open the next text.

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ Day 1, Investigation End]


	2. The Blacklight Turnabout: Trial Former

[October 3rd, 8:47 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 2]

The attorney massaged the sides of his head, sighing a little louder than he probably should have. The linoleum tiles and white marble walls felt exceedingly cold today, colder than any time he had been inside the courtroom before. Everything was bright and straining his eyes, especially the buzzing fluorescent lights that reflected in the waxed sheen of the tile. Through it all, a guard or two traipsed through the lobby, pausing to briefly inspect the room, then taking off, sometimes whistling to himself. Any way he thought about it, the sharp, twisting pain in his stomach wouldn't disappear: Robin LeBlanc was nervous. This was his first tim appearing in a court of law, absent the calming presence of his mentor (as well as the reassurance that he wouldn't really be depended upon for much). The clock was ticking closer to zero hour with every second, and Robin felt every twitch of its hands. He cursed himself and tried to wipe his face to find some clarity.

When he moved his hand, Tharja Anderra was frowning and knitting her brow at him. She was in handcuffs, held at her back by a thirty-something police officer who clearly wanted nothing to do with the girl. "Is everything all right, Robin?" she murmured.

 _Smile, dammit, smile!_ A part of Robin's subconscious encouraged him. He did so, forcing a grin, "Oh, I'm just fine, thank you, Tharja."

"Are you sure?" she bit her lip, "You were looking a little pale." She wasn't exaggerating: the attorney's face was the color of a faded pink carpet.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, "it's just early, you know? Haven't had my morning coffee yet."

"I thought you didn't drink coffee," his client and friend recalled.

"Uh... yeah," Robin's face sunk.

Tharja frowned, "Do you really think it will be that bad?"

The attorney's eyes jumped wide open, "No! I mean, that's not... Haha! Don't worry so much, Tharja, everything's going to be just fine!"

Her eyes remained disbelieving, but her mouth curved into a half-smile, "A-Are you sure?"

"Well sure I'm sure!" Robin lied, "Just you watch and see: this is going to be the swiftest defense ever! You won't even remember that you were arrested you'll be out of there so fast!"

Tharja chuckled a bit to herself, lowering her head, "If you say so, I believe you, Robin." She gazed at him a moment, smiling fondly.

"All right, let's get moving," the man accompanying her demanded, patting her back roughly.

"Hey!" she growled, "I have a right to speak to my attorney before the trial, don't I?"

"Yeah, but the bailiff's going to be calling any minute-"

"Just give us one more moment, please," Robin asked, looking carefully at his client, "Tharja, I just need to ask you one more thing: are you sure you've told me everything you know?"

The raven-haired girl nodded, "I felt sick, came home from school, popped my window open for some fresh air, and went straight to bed, and when I woke up, it was at two in the morning, when I was being arrested."

Robin nodded sympathetically, recalling her illness, and her probable fatigue, given that the bags under her eyes were even darker and starker than usual. It seemed neither of them had gotten much sleep last night, although it was clearly the defendant who had had a much rougher ordeal. There was something else about her words that struck the attorney, however, something that didn't feel right. When he opened his lips to ask, the impatient guard pushed the girl again. He cursed himself, then fished into his pocket, "Here, Tharja, I got a little something for your stomach." He tossed her a small plastic bottle that rattled as she caught it.

"Handing out drugs in the courtroom?" the guard glared angrily at him.

"They're chewable tablets for upset stomachs," Robin rolled his eyes, "they sell them over the counter. You can check them if you're really that suspicious."

The guard didn't seem to be that interested and gave up. Tharja blushed, staring at the medicine, and simply mouthed the word "Thanks" before being led into the courtroom.

Robin shut his eyes and exhaled. He slowly began picking up his papers and files, packing some less essential material into a neat black leather briefcase he had bought for himself the day he was hired onto the firm. It was expensive, which was why he had every intention of using it thoroughly. Before he could get very far, however, the attorney felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and answered, "Hello?"

"Hey 'boss man,'" Anna teased, "have you fainted yet?"

"Ha. Ha," he groaned back.

"Just trying to lift your spirits before you get in there," the secretary chirped.

"Well, thanks for trying," the young attorney sighed back, "Is that all?"

"Not quite," her tone was mysterious, "See... uh, and this is kind of silly, but uh..."

"But what?" Robin wondered.

He could hear her embarrassment through the phone, "Well... All right, look, Fado had a... policy before he left, something he did for all the attorneys, you understand, so I'm not just being weird, or anything..."

"Spit it out, Anna," the attorney was eager to hear this.

Anna cleared her throat, "Uh, 'to you, young attorney, who are about to enter the fold for the very first time, be not afraid! You have the entirety of the Verlaine & Co. Law Offices behind you, and if your heart is pure, you have justice as well! Therefore, go forth, use your knowledge, and present the truth!'"

The phone was silent for several seconds.

"Uh, did you get all that, Robin?" Anna mumbled.

Robin laughed, first quietly, a few giggles, and then a raucous explosion into the phone.

"W-Well, you're welcome!" Anna shouted angrily.

"N-No, Anna, I'm sorry," Robin cackled, wiping tears from his eyes, "I just... ha ha... Thinking of Fado talking like that, and you imitating him..." He fell into another burst of laughter, "I couldn't help it... Sorry, thank you."

"Just go win the stupid trial," she spat curtly.

"Thanks, Anna," he sighed, "I appreciate your calling me."

"Good luck," she added, "and make us some money." The redhead hung up the phone.

Robin smiled and looked up. The bailiff emerged from the doors locking off the courtroom, "Mr. LeBlanc? Please come in."

* * *

[October 3rd, 9:04 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 2]

Robin swallowed slightly, feeling a bevy of eyes leering down at him as he set his files down on the desk before him. He glanced about the room, taking a few deep breaths. Behind him sat the gallery, with a few people interested to see the trial, but mostly reporters eager to get the first story of the day. Some snapped photos of Tharja, who was in a small cordoned-off section close to the defense bench. Robin nodded to acknowledge her and she smiled, but quickly hid herself from the paparazzi again. Directly in front of the attorney was the witness stand in front of the judge's bench and facing the jury box. That was the cornerstone of Robin's defense: Ylissean judges needed to confer with and isolate a vote from juries in order to prevent legal absolutism or bias. It didn't prevent discrimination or wrongful conviction altogether, but it was better than the military courts of eras past. Past the witness stand stood a tall, somewhat lanky man with silver-blue hair that was bizarrely sharp. He wore an almost comically small pair of reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and a very ruffled, frilly suit, complete with a silk cravat, all the markings of a man desperately trying to make himself look more significant than he was. His deep burgundy eyes leered carefully at the attorney.

At the tallest bench in the room sat the judge, a generally kindly-looking old fellow with a smooth bald scalp, rounded features, and a prodigious silver beard that hung down over his face and covered his tie along with his robes. His eyes were gray, but still occasionally acute. Yes, the judge seemed an amicable man, but you never felt worse than when you were on the wrong side of his gavel, this much Robin had seen in working with Fado. But now, of course, it was just him.

"Ahem," the judge cleared his throat with finality, "I believe we're ready to begin. Bailiff, would you kindly close and lock the doors? Thank you." The judge pulled up a pair of reading glasses and glanced at his docket, "Now then, today we are hear to hear the trial of Ms. Tharja Anderra. Madam, would you come up here please?" The raven-haired girl was brought to the witness stand, where she glared unpleasantly at the judge. Robin cocked an eyebrow at her and she softened her expression.

"Ms. Anderra, you are charged with the first-degree murder of Harken Gaetz. How do you plead?" the judge glanced down his nose.

The girl looked to her attorney for confirmation, then nodded, "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Very well," the judge slipped his glasses off and sat back, exhaling, "Then we will begin the trial." After a moment, he sat straight up again, "One thing has caught my attention, however: may I speak to the defense?"

Robin picked his head up, feeling his eyes glaze over and his ears ring, "M-Me, Your Honor?"

He nodded, "Yes, Mr. LeBlanc, is it?"

"Yessir," the attorney assented quickly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you not work for Mr. Fado Verlaine?" the judge asked.

"I did," Robin answered, "Fado- er, Mr. Verlaine was my mentor and, until recently, my employer."

The judge nodded solemnly, eyes shut, then looked again, "I see also that this is your first time presiding over a defense all your own. You must be rather nervous."

The attorney resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow, "I'd be lying if I said I was entirely comfortable, Your Honor."

"Understandable," he smiled, "perhaps we might conduct a little exercise to calm your nerves: can you remind me of the name of the victim in this case?"

"That'd be Harken Gaetz, Your Honor," Robin answered.

"And how was Mr. Gaetz killed?"

"If I recall correctly, according to the police reports, he died of sudden cardiac arrest upon being stabbed directly in the heart."

"Good, very good, Mr. LeBlanc. I can see you've made yourself aware of the facts of the case. Now then... I don't recall your name either. Is this your first time appearing as a prosecutor, Mr...?"

"Canarde," replied the silver-blue-haired man across from Robin, "Virion Canarde. And no, Your Honor, I have appeared in court in... ahem, years past."

"Well then," the judge shrugged, "will you please deliver your opening statement to the court, Mr. Canarde?"

"Certainly," he bowed extravagantly, "and with magnificence! At approximately 4 pm on October first, the defendant returned home from her schooling complaining of a stomachache. Ms. Anderra is a student from Plegia, currently studying abroad and living with a foster family. She was in the care of Mr. ans Mrs. Harken Gaetz. When she returned that afternoon, feeling ill, she retired immediately to her room. In her room, there sat a ritual sacrificial knife. This information will become important later. Mr. Gaetz and his wife remained at home for the rest of the evening, through dinner, and sat down to watch television. At around 10 pm, Isadora Gaetz, the victim's wife, noticed that her husband had fallen asleep and decided to retire to bed, leaving her husband on the sofa. A few hours later, she was awoken by the sounds of footsteps near the defendant's room. Assuming it was her husband climbing the stairs, she ignored it and went back to sleep, but she was awoken not long after by a similar disturbance. Ms. Gaetz assumed this was only the defendant having suddenly woken up and searching for a glass of water, but she decided to check to be certain this time." The prosecutor produced a wicked smirk, "Good that she did, else she might have been in danger. Ms. Gaetz checked Tharja's room only to still find the girl wrapped up under her blankets. She also noticed that her husband had not yet returned to bed, and so went to check on him. When she did, she was filled with horror to discover that the victim had the same dagger from the defendant's room lodged in his chest, accompanied by a note reading as follows: 'This lamb dies on the altar of truth.' At 1:24 am on October 2nd, Mrs. Gaetz phoned the police, who arrested the defendant, who continued to hide in her bed."

"Robin!" Tharja grunted a whisper at her attorney, "Why aren't you objecting, or something?"

"It's just an opening statement," Robin shrugged, "I'm not allowed to, unless he says something outlandish, like making up an accusation. We have to wait for testimony before I can respond."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge called out, "Is something the matter?"

"No," color drained from the attorney's face, "Just momentarily conferring with my client."

The judge nodded without satisfaction, "Very well, but please wait until information is not being delivered to the court."

"Beg your pardon, Your Honor," he apologized.

The judge faced Virion Canarde, "Mr. Canarde, I assume you have evidence to present?"

"Indeed," the prosecutor offered, "I have the dagger used to murder the victim, covered in the defendant's fingerprints and the note that came with it. And further, I have the sworn testimony of the lead investigator on the scene. _C'est magnifique, n'est-ce pas_?"

"Please limit your introductions to English in this courtroom, Mr. Canarde," replied the judge.

He stammered, "Er, right. Apologies. Let's have the detective speak for me, eh? Will you join us, Monsieur le Detective?"

"I guess that's s'posed to be me?" the cobalt mop of Colm Fletcher's hair arrived at the stand, his big green trenchcoat swaying and an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"Smoking is not allowed in the courtroom, Mr. Fletcher," the judge coughed.

"It's unlit, big boy," Colm shook his head, "nothin' illegal 'bout that, is there?"

"Maybe you should just comply with M. le Judge's request, good detective," Virion smiled weakly.

Detective Fletcher cut a glare at him, "Maybe you should buy yourself a real suit, you dime-store dandelion." Robin blinked in response to the insult: what did that even mean?

Virion seemed rather disgruntled by it, however, grimacing as his face fell. "A-Anyway, would the witness grace us with his name and occupation?"

"Name's Colm Fletcher," the man mumbled through his cigarette, "and, as you seem to have suddenly forgotten, I'm a detective, the lead investigator on Mr. Gaetz's murder."

"Detective, would you mind telling us why you arrested Ms. Anderra?" inquired the judge.

"No prob," the detective pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking it around in his hand playfully and cleared his throat, "So, here's the story: When I arrived on the scene with some of my boys, we found the body exactly as described by Mr. Frills, here. That is to say, stabbed, with the knife he presented pinning the note to his body. The autopsy later conducted by the coroner showed that the stab was precise, professional: it didn't hit any ribs or nothin', just slid straight into the heart. It was only one stab, too, no abrasions from withdrawal of the weapon, just one clean strike."

"Hold it!" Robin demanded, "Detective, are you saying a young female student was the one who performed such a professional attack? How can you think that?"

"You 'hold it,'" snarled the detective, "I was getting there. The defendant here is a major lover of ancient Plegian culture, evidenced by the contents of her room and her clothing. Interestingly, Grimleal priests of the past would often perform sacrifices in order to appease their god, Grima. Can you see where I'm going with this? The priests were instructed to stab straight into the victim's heart, both to minimize suffering and to ensure the purity and integrity of the sacrifice's body. Numerous texts exist on the exact methodology employed by the priests, as it was very popular. If the defendant had read one of these books, she would know the method, and it'd be easy to pull on a sleeping target. As such, that explanation accounts for both the precision of the attack and the note."

"But," Robin protested, "Do you know Ms. Anderra has read such a book?"

"Several of the books on her shelf contain the instructions, as a matter of fact," the detective answered banally.

"But do you know that she read them?"

"If you are unsure, why not ask her yourself, M. LeBlanc?" Virion chuckled, "Enlighten us, Mademoiselle Anderra. Do you know of this process? Remember that you are under oath."

"You don't have to say anything that will incriminate you, Tharja," her attorney rebutted. The raven-haired girl glanced at he prosecutor, detective, judge, and attorney before finally hanging her head, refusing to answer. Whispers came from the jury.

"I can't prove what she knows empirically," Detective Fletcher shrugged, "but for the purpose of this explanation, it's more probable than not, unless you've got a better theory."

"I concede I don't," the attorney shook his head, "but why would Tharja murder her foster father anyway, detective?"

"Good question," Colm smiled, "The girl was known to have a great distaste for the Ylissean military. She hung out with a group of Plegian activists who try to get Ylisseans to include more information about Plegian labor camps in Ylissean history texts. The politics of it don't matter much, just know that she didn't like the Ylissean military. What better way to strike back at them than with the murder of a decorated veteran?" More whispers continued to spread through the crowd. "So, since Ms. Anderra was the only one who had access to that dagger during the evening, and knew the killing technique, combined with the note and her political beliefs, it's a sure thing that's she's the one who killed Mr. Gaetz."

"Thank you, detective," bowed the judge, "Now, Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination."

"Yes, Your Honor," the attorney nodded, "Detective, you said Ms. Anderra was the only one who had access to the dagger, but it was in an unlocked room. Couldn't Mr. and Mrs. Gaetz have accessed it just as easily?"

"Yeah," Colm shrugged, "but neither of them knew the technique to stab the victim straight in the heart like that. If they were inexperienced, it would show. And, given the angle the blade went in, it would be pretty impossible for it to have been a suicide."

"But wouldn't it have taken a lot of force to make such a deep stab, regardless of how precise it was?" the attorney hoped.

"I s'pose," Detective Fletcher replied, "but that doesn't rule out he defendant. She's a tough gal, aren't ya, sweetheart?" Tharja growled.

"Did you find any blood on Ms. Anderra?" he pressed.

"No, but there wasn't much blood anywhere," Colm sighed.

"And were there any traces of Ms. Anderra near the scene?" Robin continued.

"Her fingerprints were all over the knife, like I said."

"Sure they were, it was her knife, after all."

"You can play coy all you like, she was the only one who could've used that blade during the evening."

Robin felt himself sweat and scratched his head, running through everything he had learned during the past two days. Suddenly, however, one of Tharja's remarks sprang to mind, "Objection!"

"What's the matter, Mr. LeBlanc?" inquired the judge.

"Ms. Anderra," Robin paused, "she gave me some information this morning that contradicts what Detective Fletcher just told the court."

"I did?" her eyes widened.

"And what was this information, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge demanded after banging his gavel.

"Ms. Anderra," the attorney passed it off, "what did you tell me you did yesterday?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "I went home feeling sick, went into my room, cracked a window, and went to bed."

"Where is your contradiction, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge seemed a bit irritated, but more curious.

"The defendant says she 'cracked a window,'" he began. Colm suddenly gasped in shock. "Detective Fletcher seems to understand: if the defendant opened a window, then someone else could have entered her room over night."

"B-But!" Virion Canarde shouted, "The defense has no proof that anyone entered the window!"

"And besides," Colm grunted, "that window was closed when we got there, I know it!"

"Well, I have the sworn testimony of the defendant, who said she did open it," Robin rebutted, "So I guess we can't reconcile this dispute. Er... Your Honor, how should we proceed?"

"Ho ho!" Virion laughed, apparently having recovered, "but M. the Attorney is so utterly mistaken!"

"Do you mean to say you can resolve the question of the window, Mr. Canarde?" the judge's eyes widened.

"I can," he bowed, "or rather, I can present someone else who can. You may step down M. Detective, your performance was _génial_."

Colm Fletcher glared at the prosecutor, but complied and stepped down from the witness stand.

"The prosecution would like to call the victim's own wife, Madame Isadora Gaetz!" a grandiloquent Virion shouted, waving his arms.

"That will do, thank you Mr. Canarde," chuckled a woman's voice. A tall, slender, middle-aged woman strode up to the stand, long sapphire hair flowing behind her. She curtseyed daintily before the gallery and the judge, granting them all a small, polite smile.

"We will excuse madame for revisiting her grief," the prosecutor announced, frowning sympathetically, "but our intrepid attorney has insisted upon it."

"Me?" he doubled back, "You're the one who called her! A-And anyway, Mrs. Gaetz, my only object is to find the truth. I won't let your husband's murderer get away with it."

"Thank you," Isadora frowned, "but I'm afraid I'm relatively convinced of what misters Fletcher and Canarde have said so far today. I don't think it's possible for anyone other than Tharja to have killed my darling..."

"Then allow me to try to convince you otherwise," Robin answered.

"Your name and occupation for the record, madame," Virion urged.

"My name," she sighed into a smile, "is Isadora Gaetz, wife to Harken Gaetz. I used to be a sergeant in the Ylissean Light Infantry, but I retired a few years ago."

"Mrs. Gaetz," commanded the judge, "would you please tell the court what, exactly, you observed on the night of the murder?"

"Certainly," she folded her hands neatly, "It was a rather typical day, nothing much out of the ordinary, until Tharja came home from classes. Usually, she stops in around four, changes and puts her things from school away, and then leaves to consort with some of her friends during the evening, returning around nine or ten. That afternoon, however, she showed up at the door ashen-faced, with her eyes all sunk in; she looked exhausted. She said she wanted to just go lie down, and neither Harken nor I stopped her. Harken and I had dinner with a guest that evening, and then we watched TV for a while. Harken gets very into his sports." She paused to chuckle fondly, then frowned, "At any rate, I think I dozed off watching with him until about ten o'clock. At that time, I found myself awake and aware again, and saw that Harken had fallen asleep, too. I decided not to wake him, he always comes up to bed eventually, and so I shut off the TV and went upstairs to bed. A few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, I thought I heard someone walking around. It sounded like he or she was on the stairs, so I assumed it was Harken, coming up to bed, so I fell back asleep. Not long after, however, I woke back up and heard the same sound. I also found that Harken wasn't yet in bed, so I wondered if maybe Tharja had woken up and was going to the bathroom or getting a glass of water, something like that. It made me a little uneasy, to keep hearing all these footsteps, though, so I got up and looked, but when I checked Tharja's room, she was in bed and seemed to be sleeping soundly. When I went downstairs, well... you know what I found."

"Could you proffer us a favor, good madame," Virion smiled slickly, "and essay your very best to remember the state of Mlle. Anderra's room at the time of your inspection?"

"Well," she put a finger to her lips, "I don't know how much I remember exactly... the room looked pretty normal... I think, maybe I'm filling things in, but I think I noticed that something was missing from the wall. That would be the murder weapon. Otherwise... it was, drafty, I think. I got kind of an eerie chill on entering."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination," the judge ordered.

"Well, what about that?" Robin supposed, "Mr. Canarde, don't you find the witness's description interesting? She said the room felt 'drafty' and 'chilly.' If you went in that room when the window was shut, it would have been much warmer."

"That is hardly proof!" Virion argued, "Perhaps it was the evil aura of that melancholy girl that disturbed her." Tharja stared daggers at the prosecutor, who recoiled in fear.

"While Mr. Canarde's judgments are, perhaps, a bit heavy-handed," the judge looked at the shriveling prosecutor, "I must agree that the witness's statement does not constitute proof that the window was open."

Robin nodded, "I did have another question for you, Mrs. Gaetz."

"Yes...?" she smiled.

"You said you had dinner with a guest... who was that?" the attorney watched carefully.

"Oh," she recalled, "there was a young man, a writer, he wanted to write a biography about my dear Harken. He sent us a letter about a week ago, asking of he could meet us for dinner. We agreed, and so he stopped by that day to ask some questions about Harken's personal life and how he met me. Sweet little fellow."

"Do you remember this gentleman's name?" Robin pressed.

"Oh, I think it was something funny, lots of syllables... Fomortiis. Fomortiis Vigarde," Isadora answered with some difficulty.

"And when did M. Vigarde leave you, madame?" probed Virion.

"Oh, I'd say about eight," she shrugged, "not much later."

"So you see, M. the Attorney, that your suspicions are meaningless: the young man departed long before the murder was ever conducted," Virion Canarde smirked proudly.

"Mrs. Gaetz," Robin's face remained critical, "this is important: when did you go to bed and see your husband sleeping?"

"It was just about ten o'clock," she reiterated.

"And you said you dozed off just a little before then, is that right?" he insisted.

"Yes, I lost track of time while I was watching with Harken, and I suppose I just sort of slumped onto his shoulder. I wasn't really asleep, but I wasn't exactly conscious, either, you know the feeling," the woman described, hoping she was correct.

Robin LeBlanc nodded, "I think I do. And I think I've stumbled onto something that changes this whole case."

The judge banged his gavel, "Well, go on, Mr. LeBlanc, what are you getting at?"

"Think about it: this whole time, the prosecution and Detective Fletcher have been asserting that there was little to no blood at the scene due to the precision of the stab, but that doesn't make any sense," Robin shook his head, "If Mr. Gaetz's heart were pumping blood at the moment it was stabbed, then one would expect at least a few ounces to spill out, even if the the blade was plugging the wound, the force of the beating heart would cause at least some blood spatter, it's a certainty."

" _Que dites-tu_?" Virion scowled, "It does not matter what should have happened, M. LeBlanc, only what actually occurred, and the fact is that there wasn't much blood, end of story! Do you mean to dispute how much blood there was? What a trivial detail!"

"No, Mr. Canarde," Robin smiled, "what I mean is that Mr. Gaetz's heart was not beating at the time of the murder!"

A wave of shock ran through the courtroom, followed by the anguished growl of the prosecutor above sets of whispers, "W-What idiocy...! How could Mr. Gaetz's heart not be beating?! That would mean he was already dead!"

"Exactly," the attorney folded his arms.

"B-But he was murdered that evening by the dagger! _C'est ridicule_!" Virion shouted.

"I'm afraid I also don't follow, Mr. LeBlanc," conceded the judge, "How could Mr. Gaetz have been dead before he was murdered?"

Robin tapped his index finger on his forehead, enjoying the attention, "It's simple, if you force yourself to think about it in a different way: Mrs. Gaetz doses off watching sports with her husband just after dinner. When she awakens, she sees he's asleep too, and goes up to bed. But her husband never comes back up with her, and the next time she sees him, he has a dagger in his body. What happened?"

"He was stabbed overnight, obviously!" snorted Virion.

"No," Robin shook his head, "When Mrs. Gaetz thought she saw her husband sleeping... He was already dead! Poisoned, specifically. In fact, the real murder occurred hours before Mr. Gaetz was stabbed!"

"What?!" the prosecutor pounded his desk as more murmurs erupted through the court, "That's absurd! There was no mention of poison in the autopsy!"

"That's because the coroner didn't know he was looking for it," Robin countered, "Knowing this, I bet if he performed the examination again, he'd find it in a heartbeat."

"So then tell me this, M. the Attorney," Virion Canarde was grinding his teeth, "Why would anyone go to the trouble of stabbing a man who was already dead?"

"Why, to frame Tharja Anderra, of course," Robin smirked.

"Objection!" Virion cried, "Folly once more! You persist in saying that Mlle. Anderra was not the murderer? How could anyone else have killed M. Gaetz?"

"Weren't you listening, Mr. Canarde?" the attorney asked, "The Gaetz family had a guest that evening, one who was there for dinner, and thus had a reason to slip in and out of the home quickly."

"P-Proof!" Virion slammed his desk with his fist, "Prove your silly allegation! How can you be certain that M. Gaetz was poisoned at dinner?"

Robin recalled and nodded, "In the Gaetz home, on the tablecloth, I noticed a series of dark stains, down near the end, where the cloth tapers over the top-left corner of the table, almost as if they landed there while someone was trying to conceal something."

"Those spots could be from anything!" the prosecutor assaulted his desk again.

"True," Robin shrugged, "but I'm willing to bet that if we tested the tablecloth, we'd find the same substance that's inside Mr. Gaetz!"

The sounds of murmuring and whispering between members of the gallery and jury began to overtake the courtroom, leading the judge to bang his gavel loudly, "Order! Order! Very well, Mr. LeBlanc, you have made an interesting observation, and have supported it with evidence that leads to a valuable deduction. Since the prosecution has no apparent means of refuting your claims, I have no choice but to grant your request: a new autopsy will be performed, along with a chemical analysis on the dark spots on the Gaetz's tablecloth. As such, I will declare a one-hour recess." The judge banged his gavel and began to gather his affairs. Robin breathed for what felt like the first time in hours and supported himself on his desk as he nearly fell over. He had done it. The trial wasn't over yet, but he had fought hard enough to force a recess. In his rookie attorney's mind, this was already victory enough. Virion Canarde threw him a spiteful glare as he exited the courtroom.

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ Day 1 Trial Former-End]


	3. The Blacklight Turnabout: Trial Latter

[October 3rd, 11:56 am-District Court, Defendant Lobby No. 2]

Robin LeBlanc flipped the page over and examined it carefully, hoping to find some other resource he had overlooked in his previous searches, but it was no use, everything was beginning to run together, and there seemed to be precious little information that he had not yet dredged up. Hopefully, his bluff would be met with success, and the new examinations would vindicate his conclusions: if he was wrong, he had nothing left to go on and the case would be over. Whispers and murmurs could be heard behind the broad oaken doors leading to the courtroom, with the jurors all not-too-silently chattering about the developments in the case. In a way, it felt a lot like sitting in on Fado's trials, Robin thought, but his heart was in his throat at all times; it was much less of a spectacle when you were the one who had to do the talking. He sighed, massaged his forehead, and took a look at the next sheet.

A shadow appeared to distract him, however. The raven-haired girl, her police escort hanging in a nearby corner, stood before her attorney and offered a meek smile, "That was… impressive. Do you think they'll let me off now?"

The attorney decided to reply honestly, shaking his head vaguely, "There's no way to know for sure. A lot is riding on those new examinations, though. If my thoughts are correct, we'll definitely have shifted the balance, but if it turns out that I'm wrong… well, if I'm wrong, I'll just have to pick a new angle altogether."

Tharja nodded, mumbling in the affirmative, "You're really confident that I'm not guilty, aren't you?"

He smiled, "I have to be. I couldn't possibly believe you'd kill anyone, Tharja. Glare, hiss, and cast curses on them, yes, but murder? Give me a break."

The raven-haired girl blushed and hid her face, "I-I don't do the cursing thing anymore…"

"Oh?" her attorney smirked, "Probably for the best. Although, if you wanted to curse that Mr. Canarde, I wouldn't mind too much." Tharja Anderra giggled.

"They won't let me stay out here too long, since things are getting interesting, so I should probably get moving before the guard gets antsy," she shrugged sadly.

"Right, go ahead," Robin nodded, taking a renewed interest in his papers.

"And Robin?" she looked back, "Thank you."

"You're welcome,:" he bowed obediently, then his eyes widened and he called to her one last time, "You're sure that window was open?"

"Absolutely," she nodded. That was enough.

Before long, a call came along the attorney's cell phone. He held it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Not dead yet, huh?" a voice chuckled from the other end.

"I thought I held out pretty well," he supposed.

"That's what I heard," answered his secretary, "I mean, claiming that the victim was murdered before the murder? That's some old mystery novel-caliber stuff!"

"Not to be cliche, but sometimes truth is stranger than fiction," Robin noted.

"True," Anna agreed, "but still, that's pretty wacky. I mean, how did you even come up with that?"

The attorney really wasn't sure, "It just… had to be true. I don't believe Tharja did it, and there wasn't much blood at the scene, but everything pointed to her, so I assumed someone was trying to frame her. Given that, the only way someone could have killed Harken was by stabbing him overnight or something that no one would have seen, like poison. I moved away from the stabbing because of the blood and the spots on the tablecloth, and thus the conclusion. When you eliminate what can't be true, you end up with what is."

The line was silent for a second, then Anna muttered, "I feel like there's a simpler way to say that. At any rate, I'm proud of you, kiddo. You're not a total screw-up after all!"

"Gee, thanks," the attorney groaned.

"Aw, I'm just yanking your chain," she laughed, "Good luck in there. I'm rooting for you, and I'm sure your girlfriend is too."

Robin paused to think, then began, "Wait, what? Tharja's not-"

The line went dead.

"-my girlfriend. Dammit, Anna."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" Robin's attention was diverted to a guard pushing open the oaken doors, "The recess is ended. Please, rejoin the court." Robin LeBlanc wasted no time.

* * *

[October 3rd, 12:29 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 2]

The judge pounded his gavel authoritatively, commanding the attention and silence of everyone present, "This court will now we went into recess, it was to allow the police department time to conduct a second autopsy, searching for poison, as well as to examine the tablecloth on the Gaetz family dining table for a similar substance, based on Mr. LeBlanc's uncontested assertion that someone else murdered Mr. Harken Gaetz before the presumed time of the murder. I have here the results from the coroner's office, which state that…" The judge paused, widening his eyes a trifle and adjusting his reading glasses, "there were indeed traces of a known toxin inside Mr. Gaetz's stomach, the consumption of which would have caused fatal cardiac arrest in approximately ninety minutes."

Robin nodded, "That seems to fit in logically, if Your Honor will allow me to interject." Virion Canarde had already been floored by the announcement, but he glared with a fierce ire when the young attorney made the remark. Still, he continued, "If, as Mrs. Gaetz testified, their guest left not long after eight o'clock, that would put the time of death for Mr. Gaetz somewhere in the vicinity of nine thirty, just about half an hour before his wife would deem him asleep and go to bed. Without being unnecessarily descriptive, Your Honor, it's very possible that the victim's body was still the same temperature as when he was alive at such a time, which would make Mrs. Gaetz's assumption all the more reasonable."

The judge nodded, apparently ignoring Virion, "That all stands to reason, yes. Now, as for the tablecloth, the forensics team were able to detect the spots you mentioned, Mr. LeBlanc, and they were able to determine that the traces present therein were indeed consistent with the toxin believed to have killed Harken Gaetz. Thankfully, the tablecloth had not been washed since the evening of the murder, else it would have been impossible to draw such a conclusion from such small trace evidence. My commendations to you, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Robin took a bow without meaning to, "So… does this mean the trial is finished? There is no more evidence pointing to Tharja Anderra…"

"Objection!" Virion growled, "I refute such a suggestion! The defendant's fingerprints are still all over the weapon!"

"But was killed by poison, that was evidenced by the coroner's report just now," replied the judge.

"How do we know she was not the one who poisoned him?!" the prosecutor insisted.

Robin shook his head, "We have the testimony of both Ms. Anderra herself and Isadora Gaetz, both of whom say Tharja went to bed immediately around four in the afternoon. There was no opportunity for Ms. Anderra to perform such a poisoning, setting aside the question of where she would get the poison to begin with."

Virion tried to compose himself, straightening his cravat, "Grr… Very well then, M. the Attorney, then the burden stands with you: who do you accuse?"

"How's that?" Robin winced.

"You have shown evidence that strongly suggests Ms. Anderra is not guilty of the crime for which she is accused, but you know the law in Ylissean courts," the prosecutor assumed a smile, "In order to acquit an accused party of a capital offense, another suspect must be accused and given his or her own trial, wherein his or her guilt may be judged. The defendant cannot be proclaimed innocent until someone else is found guilty."

Robin swallowed, "O-Of course I know that… Ahem… I suppose, under the circumstances, there is only one possible solution to the puzzle the court has been given today. The only way the mysterious poisoning of Harken Gaetz makes sense is if it was perpetrated by the Gaetz's dinner guest on the evening of October 1, the man Isadora identified as Fomortiis Vigarde."

The judge banged his gavel, "Then we are fortunate. When the police heard identify her dinner guest, they put out a search for this young biographer, but found nothing until recently, when Mr. Vigarde apparently caught wind of their search and presented himself. Mr. Vigarde, are you present in the courtroom?"

A young, fair-faced and soft-featured man with thin, mauve hair, pale amethyst eyes, and a tiny porcelain smile rose from the gallery, his chair groaning as he pushed it back. "I am, Your Honor," he answered in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. Without another word, he made his way to the witness stand, sporting a shiny white suit and matching pants. As he assumed his position, he made a broad smile, first at the court, then at the attorney who accused him, "My name is Fomortiis Vigarde… and I would like to clear up these most unfortunate allegations." Tharja shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she saw his smile, and Isadora cocked an eyebrow, attending to the young man's dress. Robin took note.

"Your occupation, sir," Virion requested gently.

"I'm a biographer, as Mrs. Gaetz told you," he smiled, "I did admire her husband so. I was very eager to tell all Ylisse of his heroism… now, all I can think is what a tragic conclusion this tale will have. The poor man, cut down in his golden years by some Plegian hussy. Very sad."

"Ms. Anderra is most certainly not the murderer," Robin protested.

"So you say," the lad cocked an eyebrow at him, "and in that assertion you accuse me, so can you honestly expect me to concur with it? I most certainly did not kill Harken Gaetz, either."

"Would you care to tell us what did happen that evening, M. Vigarde?" Virion offered.

"I'd be glad to," he grinned, "I arrived at the Gaetz household around 7:30 in the evening, whereupon I was treated to a lovely meal. It was beginning to get a bit cold outside, so I was quite glad when Isadora brought out a lovely warm roast, for it made the house smell like heaven. I tried not to disturb the Gaetz family much during my stay, so I asked generally simple questions, although Mr. Gaetz was a most accommodating gentleman; he entreated me to ask whatever I needed. When I had finished collecting my information, I was in quite a pleasant mood of excitement, I must say, for I had a stomach full of delicious home cooking and a mind bursting with ideas and information. Thanking them for their wonderful hospitality, I left the Gaetz family not long after eight o'clock in the evening."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?" offered the judge.

Robin took a deep breath and placed his hands on his desk, staring back at the smiling youth, "That was a pretty short visit you had with Mr. Gaetz."

"Indeed," the youth confessed, "I had collected a good deal of information through books, military records, internet searches, these sorts of things. I only contacted Mr. Gaetz for access to his personal histories, for those anecdotes are what elevate a biography to something more tantamount to a novel, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Attorney?"

"That will be 'Mr. LeBlanc,' please," Robin responded, "And perhaps, but it seems to me that such a personal conversation might last a bit longer. You don't seem to have probed Mr. Gaetz for very long."

"Objection!" Virion Canarde shouted, "The defense is badgering the witness; who cares how long they spoke? Unless there is something contradictory about this information, it means nothing! _Rien du tout_!"

"Then let me ask this," Robin proceeded, "What sort of questions did you ask Mr. Gaetz, specifically?"

"I asked about his military history, some of the awards ceremonies he had been to, those sorts of flowery affairs, as well as how he met his lovely wife in the military. A touching story, that one," the mauve-haired man smiled pleasantly.

"Any other meaningless information you'd like to request, M. the Attorney?" the prosecutor taunted.

"Actually," Robin held his lip firm, "I think that last remark was rather interesting. Mr. Vigarde, you're aware of the awards Mr. Gaetz won during his service?"

"But of course," the young man shrugged, "He was a highly decorated veteran. Is this really relevant to the murder we're discussing, Mr. Attorney?"

"'Mr. LeBlanc,'" he corrected again, "And then maybe you can tell me… what was the most prestigious award Mr. Gaetz won?"

Fomortiis Vigarde swallowed and frowned. Virion, however, took over immediately, "For what reason, M. the Attorney? Good M. Vigarde need not be questioned on the detail of his reporting. The only matter up for concern is the murder, anything else is irrelevant."

The attorney glanced up at the judge, "Your Honor, I think this inquiry may be valuable. After all, it should be a relatively simple question to one writing a biography, should it not? It's been all over the news. I only want to know what the most prestigious award that Mr. Gaetz won is."

The judge mulled it over, then nodded and banged his gavel, "Answer the question please, Mr. Vigarde. What is the award?"

"Thank you, Your Honor," Robin half-whispered.

The young man wrinkled his nose at the judge, then smiled relaxedly at the court, "Well, that's quite simple, Mr. Gaetz was most proud of his 'Steadfast Paladin' medal, awarded to Ylissean officers who display exceptional valor in leading their troops."

The court fell silent. "W-What?" the mauve-haired man's eyes widened as he looked out at them, and his smile disappeared.

"Just as I thought," surmised the attorney, "The court finds your response as interesting as I do, Mr. Vigarde… because the medal you have named does not exist."

"W-What?" a grave frown appeared on the lad's face, "Th-That's not… of course it does! I described it to the letter!"

Robin shook his head, "The medal you have described is called the 'Soaring Pegasus' medal, and it was the merit most beloved by Harken Gaetz."

"S-So what?" Virion growled, "He got the name wrong! _N'importe_! Everything else was correct, so what's the matter?"

"The name of that medal has been broadcast on every news TV and radio station across the entire country since the morning when Mr. Gaetz was found dead," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "Anyone would know it by now, so to think that Mr. Gaetz's own biographer failed to identify it is ludicrous!"

"Q-Quiet you!" yipped the young man, "I made a simple mistake, that's all! I meant to say the Soaring Pegasus, I was only nervous to death by your accusative stare!" He assumed a hurt frown, "I was so dreadfully frightened, I slipped in naming the medal, that's all, but as Mr. Canarde told you, I got everything else right, so I wasn't just making things up."

"Do you have a body of work we can examine, Mr. Vigarde?" Robin requested, digressing.

"Er, no," he breathed, "this was to be my first work after graduating from university…"

"How lovely," the attorney seized with irony, "What university did you attend? And when did you graduate?"

"I, uh, graduated… from the… University of Ylisstol just last year," he choked out.

"My my," Robin taunted, "that's impressive, A UY graduate? How do you feel about the Pegasi this year?"

"H-Huh?" he cocked an eyebrow.

Robin slammed his desk, "Your Honor, I'd like to search the graduation records from Ylisstol University for last year for verification of Mr. Vigarde's qualifications… not that I'm in any doubt, because it's clear that this man doesn't know anything about the things he's claiming!"

"Agh!" the mauve-haired lad grasped a hand over his chest.

"Objection!" Virion Canarde shouted. "These accusations are… baseless!"

"Overruled, Mr. Canarde," the judge shook his head, "We will summon the records for Mr. LeBlanc."

"Ha," a voice suddenly sputtered, "Hahaha! Hahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahahahahahaha!" Eyes focused on the mauve-haired man in the center of the courtroom, whose thing locks were now becoming disheveled and bundling into thicker strands that covered his eyes, which were becoming slightly wild, "Is that what you think, Mr. Attorney? You think I'm a fraud, is that it?"

Robin nodded, "You don't know anything about Mr. Gaetz, and you're not a writer at all."

"Heheh! Haha!" the young man shouted, "That's pretty good. Did you figure it all out on your own? Haha! Tell me this, Mr. Attorney: who cares? I'm untouchable! You don't have any proof that I did the crime, do you? So you lose. Without any evidence to the contrary, the suspicion of guilt still falls to that little girl, and there's nothing you can do to change that. All your bluster's for nothing!"

"You're right," Robin confessed, "there's not much I can say."

"Ha!" shouted the young man, "So you admit it! Case closed, bang the gavel, judge! Guilty! Let's have her hanged!"

"But there is someone in the courtroom who can speak up," Robin smirked.

"Huh?" Fomortiis Vigarde's face sunk.

The judge banged his gavel a few times, "Don't keep us in suspense, Mr. LeBlanc, who is it that you mean?"

"There are two people involved in the story of the murder of Harken Gaetz who never met, two players who never interacted… inside the house anyway," Robin tapped a finger on his forehead, "I don't believe much in coincidence, something that noticeable must have happened on purpose. In keeping with my assumption that Mr. Vigarde was the man who poisoned Mr. Gaetz, there's one more step he would need to accomplish in order to divert suspicion, and that's to frame Tharja Anderra."

"Spit it out, already!" growled Virion Canarde, "What are you suggesting?"

Robin continued, unflinching, "If we accept that assumption, then it would be necessary for Mr. Vigarde to keep Tharja out of the way during the actual poisoning, or she would be suspicious immediately, as such, it was Mr. Vigarde who resigned Tharja to her bedroom that night… isn't that right, Tharja?"

Tharja buried her face behind her bangs, her hands shaking slightly. She gritted her teeth and grunted, but refused to offer an answer.

"I could tell by your reaction that you'd seen him before, Tharja," Robin held out his hand, "but you were surprised to see him here, meaning you didn't know he was with your foster family on the evening of the murder. I can also tell that it's difficult for you, Tharja, but you need to tell the court or you'll be even worse off: when have you seen this man before?"

"H-He was… I-I…" she hesitated, still shaking.

"Objection!" Virion shouted, "The witness's answer is taking too long! She is lying!"

"Objection!" Robin shouted back, slamming his hands on his desk, "Be quiet, Virion! She's having difficulty saying it because it's painful! Listen for once and you might just understand!" The prosecutor clutched his chest and grimaced, falling silent.

The raven-haired girl continued to shudder before speaking up again, "I… saw him with my friends. After school, I would go out with some of my Plegian friends, and one day… he was there. He claimed to know one of my friends, and he agreed, so he followed us around when we hung out…"

"How long ago was this, Tharja?" Robin interrupted softly.

"He showed up about a week ago," she answered.

"Interestingly," Robin leered at the youth on the witness stand, "That was around the same time Tharja's foster family received a letter from our 'biographer.' Please continue,"

"W-Well, that afternoon, I… The afternoon before the murder, that is… I did meet a few of my friends, and this man, the man up there… he offered to buy us all a round of drinks at a cafe. I was running a little late that day, so I ran to the bathroom after we ordered, and when I sat down… he was sitting right next to my seat, next to my cup. I guess… I guess I was stupid… I drank some of it, and then I started to feel sick to my stomach… the way he looked at me when I started to realize it… I didn't like the look in his eyes, so I made an excuse and ran home. I was so nauseous, so I barely said anything when I came in, threw open the window, and hit my bed like a sack of bricks. I don't want to think about what would have happened if I hadn't gotten a bad vibe, although things seem to have still turned out pretty terribly, considering," the raven-haired girl choked out. Eyes burned into the mauve-haired man on the stand.

"So, you felt ill and rushed home because Mr. Vigarde drugged you?" summarized the judge.

"How stupid!" grunted Fomortiis, "That's just a sob story she made up to cover her sorry Plegian tail. Why are you simpletons believing her?"

"Tharja, how many of your friends saw this man?" asked the attorney.

"At least five," she replied.

"Then we have at least five corroborative testimonies," Robin glared at the young man, "that's why."

"B-B-But…" Virion groaned, "There is no proof that M. Vigarde drugged her, or that this has any connection to the poisoning…"

"If a doctor tested her system, I'm sure we could find traces of the drug in Tharja's body," Robin responded, "As well as a few friends who might have witnessed something. Regardless, it has everything to do with the poisoning. Why else would Mr. Vigarde ingratiate himself with Ms. Anderra's friends a week before interviewing her foster father? There are too many connecting threads to dismiss it as chance."

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Mr. Vigarde?" demanded the judge.

The man's mauve bangs now covered his left eye, and both his eyes and lips had lost their soft pleasantness, replaced by a coarse frown and coal blackness. He grunted at the room, "Try though you may, Mr. Attorney, you don't have a smoking gun. Whether you think I poisoned Mr. Gaetz or not, my hands are clean, so you can't touch me. No matter what you do, you'll never be able to pin this on me. I'll walk free, and the girl will go to jail. Business as usual."

Robin shook his head, "Not quite. There has to have been a receptacle for the poison you used, and with it, a trace of the same poison that was on the tablecloth and in Mr. Gaetz's bloodstream. If we were to find such a receptacle connected to your person, that would be just as good as a smoking gun, wouldn't it?"

"It most certainly would," the judge concluded before anyone else in the room had a chance to answer, "That would tip the preponderance of the collected evidence most decidedly in favor of suspecting Mr. Vigarde. We will conduct a search of Mr. Vigarde's abode. Will you give us the address of your living space, Mr. Vigarde?"

"Go ahead," he shrugged, telling the bailiff, "You won't find anything, because I'm innocent."

Robin smiled, "Just a moment, Your Honor. Police should be dispatched to that address, but not just yet, because the witness is quite right. Well, half-right, at least."

The judge banged his gavel, "Explain, Mr. LeBlanc."

"The witness can afford to be so sure," Robin placed his hands on the desk, "because there is indeed no such receptacle in his receptacle exists, however. He's simply hiding it in a place he thinks no one will ever manage to discover."

"And what place is that?" requested the judge, "We'll dispatch investigators immediately."

"I told you," Robin smirked, "it's 'connected to his person!'"

The youth doubled back and folded his arms, "W-What?!"

The judge banged his gavel several times among the murmur in the court, "What is the meaning of this, Mr. LeBlanc? Where has the witness hidden the receptacle for his poison?"

The attorney tapped a finger on his forehead, "As I said, in order to be sure that it would never be discovered on an investigation of his belongings, the witness had to have stowed the receptacle somewhere away from his home, and somewhere he could constantly keep an eye on it."

"And where would the witness find such a place?" Virion sweat.

"Maybe Mrs. Isadora Gaetz can tell you," Robin smiled, pointing her out, "It was her reaction that helped me figure it out. That and the witness's willingness to have his home searched after handing himself over to the police, of course. Mrs. Gaetz, would you tell us, what strikes you about Mr. Vigarde's appearance today?"

"His suit…" she murmured, "It's the same one he wore the other night with Harken and I."

"My thoughts exactly," Robin touted himself, "Your Honor, the smoking gun, the receptacle for the poison used to murder Mr. Harken Gaetz is _in the witness's suit_!"

The mauve-haired youth snarled, grinding his teeth and collapsing a half-step, growling angrily at the attorney, "Th-That's not… You can't prove… How could you know… No… No! Nooooooooooooooooooo!" The young man pounded repeatedly on the stand, shouting the same word repeatedly, hair flying everywhere and eyes growing wider and wilder with each slam until he was forcibly apprehended by the bailiff and a guard.

"Get… Get your hands off of me…" he commanded in a low growl, "I confess. I've got nowhere to run now… I confess, so get your filthy paws away from me…" He pointed at the attorney with a lethal finger, "You… what's your game? What are you trying to prove?"

"My client's innocence, mostly," Robin answered, stone-faced.

"Tch," the young man scoffed, "How typical. And boring. Here I'd hoped I'd met an intellectual equal."

"Oh, we're not equals," Robin agreed, "I think I just won this little game."

"Ha!" the young man grumbled, "Arrogant. The confidence suits you, but it will be your undoing, Little Lawyer-boy."

"Before you go, Mr. Vigarde," Robin watched him carefully, "May I ask why you did it? Why murder Harken Gaetz? And moreover, why frame Tharja? Clearly, you planned it well in advance."

"I'll answer you in this way, Mr. Attorney," he responded, "You accused me of being a fraud, and you were dead on. Everything about me is fake. I say this only because it will inevitably be discovered now, so listen well: my name isn't Fomortiis Vigarde. That was made up, it was a pseudonym, for work, you understand?"

"For 'work?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

The youth smiled, "You uncovered quite a bit, Mr. Attorney, but not everything. Yes, work. Ladies and gentlemen of the court, my name is Lyon Mulroy, and I am a professional assassin."

"A-Assassin?!" Robin jumped. The prosecutor, judge, and remainder of the court did so with him, "You mean... you were paid to kill Harken Gaetz?"

"That's right," he nodded, "but don't bother asking who or why. Part of my contract is keeping silent on those questions; I'll die sooner than talk."

"So… you murdered Harken Gaetz via poison?" Virion muttered, "But then… why stab him with Mlle. Anderra's knife?"

"For reasons Mr. Lawyer already pointed out," he shrugged, "I needed to pin the murder on someone. Ms. Anderra was the perfect choice for my purposes, so I snuck back to the house late in the evening. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the girl had left the window wide open: an opportunity gift-wrapped for me. I climbed in, stole the knife, faked the murder, and skipped out the same way before anyone had a chance to realize what had happened."

"So then, the note was part of your plan, too, to fit with the sacrifice motif?" Robin supposed.

"No, the 'motif' was just a stroke of luck," Lyon Mulroy shook his head, "I had other ways to frame Ms. Anderra, but the opportunity that presented itself was just too perfect, so I took it."

"So why did you have the note prepared?" the attorney pressed.

"Part of my employer's request," the assassin surmised vaguely.

"I've heard all I need to hear," the judge shook his head, banging his gavel, "Mr. Lyon Mulroy, you are, without a doubt, a despicable man in a contemptuous profession, and judgment will not fall upon you lightly." The assassin scoffed. "However," the judge relaxed, "I am here to pronounce judgment on Tharja Anderra today, and after conferring with the jury who have graced us with their presence for this trial, in the murder of Harken Gaetz, the court finds Tharja Anderra unanimously 'Not Guilty.'" A few cheers went up in the courtroom, and reporters began to clamor and snap photographs of all the involved parties immediately, paying special attention to the defendant and the assassin. The judge banged his gavel for order, "This court is adjourned."

* * *

[October 3rd, 3:57 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 2]

"Robin!" a voice yelled after the attorney as he carried his leather briefcase out. He was immediately enveloped in a suffocating embrace.

"Ack! C-Can't breathe!" he choked.

"Whoops," Tharja Anderra released him, "Sorry… I just… that was… Robin, that was amazing!"

"Was it?" he rubbed the back of his neck, blushing, "I don't know, I just tried to come up with stuff to say. I'm glad it worked out as well as it did in the end."

"Well, it was impressive to me," she grinned fondly at him.

"I'm just glad it's all over with," the attorney admitted, "so you can go back to school now, Tharja, and you can live free of suspicion."

"I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't called upon you…" the raven-haired girl looked at her feet, "You really saved me."

"It was nothing, honestly," he blushed, "just doing my best for a friend."

She chose to embrace him tightly once more, ensnaring him in her long Plegian ceremonial clothing, "And this friend is never going to forget it. Thank you so much, Robin…" She kissed his cheek softly, then the pair both blushed, staring at one another. "I-I… I should go," Tharja conceded, melting under the attorney's gaze, "but thank you. Thank you, a thousand times thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled plainly as she took off. The smile disappeared as Isadora Gaetz traipsed over, "Mrs. Gaetz, I'm sorry… I know this doesn't help you with your loss…"

"Don't blame yourself, young man," she smiled faintly, "It was that little purple-haired monster who took my Harken from me. You helped me see that. It's a load off my conscience to know I wasn't harboring the woman who murdered my husband all this time, at least, so thank you for that."

"Of course," Robin bowed. Isadora took her leave.

"Hey, you!" another voice shouted. Robin turned his head to see a mop of cobalt hair in a trenchcoat with a cigarette poking out from underneath. Robin braced himself as Colm Fletcher drew near, "...Good work." The detective pat the attorney on the back, "I've got some o' my boys checking out that Mulroy creep's place out right now, and we'll see what we can get outta him personally." The detective grinned as he cracked his knuckles.

"Thanks, detective," Robin nodded, "I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without your help."

"Somethin' like that," Colm Fletcher supposed, "You did most o' the leg work, though, so good on ya. I won't hold you up, though, your lady friend is waiting for you."

"My 'lady friend?'" Robin LeBlanc repeated. He followed Detective Fletcher out the door to find Anna pressed up against the wall, waiting to surprise him.

"Hey! Congrats!" she shouted.

"Thanks," he bowed his head, "but all these congratulations are too much… I'm getting embarrassed…"

"Well, no worries," she grinned, "I won't congratulate you every time, because every time isn't your first case. But this one is, you know? So we should celebrate!"

"I guess I can't argue with that," the attorney shrugged.

"Good! Then we're going for dinner, and you can tell me all about it," she smiled broadly, "Your treat!"

"Sounds go-mine? You just got paid yesterday!" he shouted.

"Which reminds me," Anna thought, "How much were we getting paid for this case?"

"Um…" Robin rubbed the back of his neck.

* * *

_And just like that, my first trial was over. It felt like I had a ton of iron taken off my chest when it was all finished, but I still had questions hanging around in my mind: who had hired Lyon Mulroy, and why did they demand the use of that strange note? And why did they target Harken to die? I would continue to ponder these questions as cases finally began to trickle in, but before long, I would come to regret ever having uncovered the truth that could only be revealed by shining that certain light of mine in the darkness._

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ End]


	4. The Turtledove Turnabout: Invest Day 1

[October 6th, 5:43 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The indigo light of approaching dusk began to fill the corners of the room, shadows starkly marked in purple against the gold of the sunset above them. The room was deathly quiet, save the occasional rapid pecking noises of typing from Anna's desk as her face radiated blue from the laptop's monitor. Robin lay on the office's sofa, arms folded behind his head in a resplendent position of repose, a contented smile on his face. A set of papers, menacingly flashing their red ink at the attorney, remained in an unattended pile on the coffee table just beside him. He thought about getting up and switching on the radio that sat in the front corner of the office to listen to a talk show, if only for the background noise, but decided against it as Anna would often note that it distracted her. She'd be leaving before long, and he could turn it on then.

"You know," Robin was jolted out of his idle thoughts as Anna's fingers stopped, "as great as your first-ever victory was, it's going to take a hell of a lot more than one case to take care of these bills... especially considering that our first case turned out to be pro bono." Robin thought for a second, but before he could answer, his secretary added, "I really wish you'd have let me in on that decision, by the way." Her tone indicated this was a little more than a wish.

"It came as a little bit of a surprise to me, too," the attorney answered flatly, but then sighed with relief, "Don't worry about it: now that people have heard of me and know they aren't gambling on a total rookie, I'm guessing our odds will be way better. People will probably be knocking down that door." Robin pointed to the office door with a quick chuckle as he looked over the sofa to see Anna's reaction: she had not been amused.

As if on cue, several quick, hard knocks smacked against the door. Both of the firms' workers' eyebrows shot up, and Robin threw himself off the couch to answer the door.

On the other side was a young man, probably in his early twenties, with shortly-cut moss-green hair, a few jagged bangs of which dangled just above his eyes. His face was severe and he seemed to be professionally dressed, for some reason: he wore a long black jacket, but the tactician could see that he had on a blood-orange hoodie that covered a white athletic t-shirt. "Pardon me," he gestured with a polite tone, "is this the LeBlanc and Company Law Offices?"

Robin looked back at Anna and smirked, then nodded at the visitor, "That's right, I'm Mr. Robin LeBlanc. Can I help you?"

"I was hoping so," the young man said. He gestured to the couch, "May we sit down?"

"Of course," Robin nodded hastily, clearing off the coffee table and pulling over the chair for interviews, gesturing to it with his hands. He plopped himself back on the sofa as his guest seated himself and folded his arms.

"So, for starters, my name is Rath Tolstoy," the young man began, offering his hand.

Robin took it, but became aware that Anna had stopped typing. He glanced back over the sofa to see that Anna was now looking over in her peripheral vision, pretending to still focus on the laptop. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tolstoy."

"Rath, please," he insisted, "Mr. Tolstoy is my father."

"What brings you to me, Rath?" the attorney proceeded.

"I heard about your defense of that Plegian girl in the newspapers," Rath said as if he were telling someone else, "I was wondering if I could secure your services myself."

"Of what are you accused?" Robin asked.

Rath laughed, "Allow me to rephrase that: I wanted to secure your assistance for a member of my family. My half-sister, to be specific."

"Ah, I see," the attorney allowed him to continue, "What's the trouble?"

"She was accused of murdering her co-worker," Rath shook his head derisively, "It's silly, of course. Laughable. She'd never do anything like that. The poor girl doesn't have the heart to hurt a damn thing."

"I'm sure," Robin agreed, "Have the police already begun investigating?"

"Yes," Rath answered, "The murder was discovered this morning, in her office. I have the address right here..."

Robin jotted it down on a small notepad. "And she's at the detention center now?" he continued.

Rath nodded, "So, what do you think? Will you take it?"

The attorney's eyes widened, "Sorry?"

"The case," Rath insisted, the politeness of his tone suddenly dropping, "will you defend my sister?"

"Well, I have to know details first," Robin shrugged, "I have to be sure I believe there's a hope of winning."

Rath frowned impatiently, "What's this about? There was no hope for that Plegian witch, but you got her off the hook."

"Of course there was hope," the attorney rebutted, "Tharja was innocent."

"And you're telling me you knew that from the start?" the young man grimaced.

Robin nodded, "I could tell. When she explained her case, I knew she was telling the truth."

"You don't think I am?" Rath balled his fists.

"That's not what I said," the attorney countered calmly but sternly, "I believe you believe she's innocent, but I have to talk to her myself."

"Well, then, c'mon," the young man stood, tugging on his jacket.

Robin looked up at the clock: it read 6:02. "Not right now," he shook his head, "the office is closing for the night, and I've got a little extra work to take care of. I set these hours for a reason: I don't have any extra time to work on cases this late in the day."

Rath gritted his teeth, "You're being a real nuisance right now, pal..."

"Then go somewhere else," Robin leered, "There are lots of other attorneys in this town, I'm sure you can find another."

The young man's cheeks pulled back taut from his tensing jaw before he grunted, "I'm visiting her at 9 am tomorrow. I'd better see you there or there's going to be trouble."

"Right," Robin stared at the visitor as he took one last glaring look at the attorney and his office before throwing open the door and heading out.

When he made a few footsteps down the hall and started to shuffle rapidly down the staircase, Anna piped up, "Are you crazy?"

"I didn't turn him down, I just got a weird vibe..." Robin began, "I mean, what was his problem, anyway?"

"You're kidding, right?" Anna rolled her eyes, "Didn't you hear his name?"

"Rath Tolstoy?" Robin recited with a quirk of his eyebrow.

The redhead sighed loudly, shaking her head, "You've never heard of the Tolstoys? Robin, they're a big organized crime family! The Tolstoys have been operating unchecked in Ylisstol for decades: racketeering, burglary, even assassination! They're bad news, and if this Rath guy wants you to defend one of them, you can bet it's not gonna be a pretty scene. I say you go there tomorrow and tell him straight away that you can't take the case."

"Well..." Robin absorbed the information, "but what if she really is innocent?"

"Robin..." Anna crossed her arms.

"Don't 'Robin...' me," the attorney grumbled, "I have to give the girl a fair shake. After all, you're the one who wanted me to be on the lookout for new cases. It's not going to hurt to give her a try, right?"

"Trust me," she insisted, "guys like him... it's better just to not get involved."

"I'll think on it," Robin concluded, sighing and shutting his eyes.

"Don't do anything stupid, Robin," Anna demanded, "I don't want anything to happen... Er, that is, I'm supposed to be your adviser, right? So take my advice on this one."

The attorney cracked a small smile, "Financial adviser. I take care of the clients."

"Just... be careful," she commanded, breathing hotly with frustration.

"I will, don't worry," he assured her, "Now, it's quitting time for you, isn't it?" Robin gestured to the clock: 6:11.

"Uh, yeah," the redhead concurred, pulling up her purse and the carrying bag for her laptop, "Nothing to worry about, though. It's just a question of how soon I'm gonna be eating noodles in my pajamas."

"Wouldn't want to keep you from that," Robin smiled warmly.

She packed her laptop away and draped the bag and her purse over her shoulder, "Then I'll take off. Thanks, boss man."

"Anna..." he protested.

"I know, I know," she shrugged him off, "just giving you a hard time." As she opened the door, the secretary lingered, "But I'm serious about the Tolstoys, Robin: watch out. You'd better know damn well what you're doing."

"I got it, mom," he smirked.

Anna offered him a particular gesture with one finger, "G'night."

"Night," he waved her off. He listened to her steps as she slowly walked a few paces down the hall, then quickened a bit as she descended the stairs. When he could no longer hear her, the attorney got up and pushed the button on the radio, which fizzled on immediately: a rather unpleasant-sounding pundit was railing about taxation policy. Robin walked into Fado's office and pulled a big volume with a faded blue cover off of the shelf. He flipped it open and was overcome with the musty smell of a well-used book. The attorney made a trip to the fridge to grab an iced tea and a package of sliced pepperoni. He sat back down and set to work on the tome.

[October 7th, 8:58 am, Detention Center]

The car's barely-functioning clock radio read 8:58 when Robin pulled into the parking lot of the detention center. He walked in and decided not to give the guards a thought this time, though he did notice that at least one of them was looking at him curiously. When he entered, Robin gave his information to the receptionist at the desk in the front room and, when she asked who he was visiting that day, he replied that he was waiting on someone before he went ahead.

Rath strode in, skipping the jacket and just wearing his loud orange hoodie today. He nodded slightly at the attorney just as the receptionist was explaining that prisoners could only have one visitor at a time. Robin took the news with a bit of surprise: he had sat beside Fado during all of his questioning sessions... maybe there was some kind of exception for junior partners? Dismissing that, Robin offered his hands to show Rath he could go first.

His face softened ever so slightly as he nodded again, looking at Robin in a "this-won't-take-long" fashion. As he walked over and sat down across from the cubicle, Robin couldn't see the girl herself, but he could make out some of their conversation:

"Rath..." the voice was excited but fell immediately into depression, as if she'd only suddenly remembered where she was.

"Lyn... quieter..." Rath wasn't as vocal, "...with me today."

"Who?"

"...ask you some questions... as you can, okay? Tell him everything about that night."

"Do you want me to... er, should I...?"

"No, 'less he asks..."

"Did... him?"

"...I did, but on his orders... kinda."

"Kinda?"

"...improvised."

"...scary in here."

"I know... get you out..."

"...so soon?"

"...talk later, for now, just answer him. Be on your best behavior."

"Okay... soon."

Rath returned to the small waiting area with a frown, glancing at Robin, who looked up from a newspaper as he heard the footsteps. "Go ahead," the mafioso gestured toward the room, pointing at one particular cubicle. Robin rose and thanked him, walking over and seating himself in a gray folding chair. He looked across from himself and saw the girl Rath had been talking to: she had emerald-colored hair that flowed longer than her shoulders despite the fact that it was in a neat, long, rounded ponytail. Her eyes matched the shade of her hair, and he face was soft and pale, although her jaw was a bit sharper than her cheeks might suggest. She didn't seem to be wearing any makeup at the moment, or, at least, not that Robin could perceive; her eyes looked tired and somewhat baggy. She definitely wasn't accustomed to sleeping in dark rooms close to the floor. She was dressed in a business-casual style: a long-sleeve sky-blue button-up shirt and a moderately long black skirt with some kind of red fringe design. It looked gaudy, but Robin was beginning to feel embarrassed for staring and looked back up at her and pressed the button for the microphone, "Hello. My name is Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law. I came here with Rath today."

She took a moment to absorb that, as he noticed her chest quickly swell and then drop again, "Hello, Mr. LeBlanc. My name is Lyndis Lorca, I'm Rath's sister."

"He said you were his half-sister," the attorney noted.

"Technically," she said, "but Rath and I are so close, and our parents have been together for years, we don't even consider the difference anymore." She was smiling at the mention of her brother.

"That's good," Robin said, unfolding his notebook, "It's good to have someone you can rely on like that." She nodded in affirmation. "Now, I hope you won't think I'm rushing, but can you give me some idea why you're in here today?"

Lyndis pouted at the thought, "I was... they, uh, accused me of..."

"It's okay, Lyndis," Robin assured her, "I'm here to help you, just tell me what you know."

"Lyn," she said, "Nobody calls me 'Lyndis.' Nobody that I like, anyway, so please, call me Lyn."

"Fine," Robin said, "Lyn, why are you here, please?"

"They said I murdered Nephenee..." she mewled.

"And who's Nephenee?"

"My co-worker. We have offices on the same floor at Heron Corp."

"Oh? What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a sales representative. It's an insurance company."

Robin paused and cocked an eyebrow, "How old are you, Lyn?"

"Twenty-two," she said. Robin's eyes widened: she had legs up to here...

"And already working a job for a big corporation? That's pretty lucky," the attorney supposed.

She nodded, "My father happens to know some people who helped, but Heron Corp. actually hires a lot of recent college graduates, something about keeping on the cutting edge. My grades were good, so they were happy to have me even with just a bachelor's in business administration."

Robin kept the conversation going, "Did you like it there?"

"Oh, yeah, it was a nice place. Nice break room, good food nearby, and most everyone is pretty friendly, except the managers, but they on come around every once in a blue moon, so it's not too bad."

"Was Nephenee nice?"

"She was fine, I didn't have any problems with her, but... we got into a little spat."

"Can you explain this 'spat?'"

"She sent me an email a little over a week ago, saying I'd stolen a promotion from her. I'd only talked with her a little bit before then, but she sounded so angry, I typed up a response right away, but she never got back to me. Every time I saw her after that, she looked angrier and angrier, and she even talked to a few of my other co-workers, but I'm not sure exactly who or what about... rumors, you know. Yesterday, she approached me and said she wanted to meet with me face-to-face after hours: I thought that was fine, we could clear the air on this whole stupid affair, and so I agreed."

"So, what happened at the meeting?" Robin asked, seeing the natural stopping point.

Lyn shifted in her chair, "I... she... Erm... Ahem."

"I have to know in order to help you, Lyn," the attorney said.

"You won't believe me."

"I don't have a choice if you don't say anything."

"We met in her cubicle—"

"When was this?"

"Pretty late, after eight, I think."

"Go ahead."

"We met in her cubicle and... well, we talked for a few minutes, and then, out of nowhere, she lurched forward and pushed me!"

"So, what did you do?"

"I pushed back. Er, but not hard, or anything, just a little shove, like, 'Why did you do that?'"

"And then?"

"Then... then I felt something hit me on the back of the head."

That gave Robin pause, "The back of the head? Well, that doesn't make any sense, Nephenee—right?—she was in front of you."

"I know, I don't get it either," she sighed, "I told the police that, but they didn't believe me. When I woke up, I was in a chair and Nephenee was dead on the floor, bleeding out of her head..." The woman shriveled up as she said it.

"But you didn't hit her?" the attorney asked.

"No, I swear. But... there was this coffee mug next to her, all in shards, they said my fingerprints were on it and that Nephenee's blood was, too, plus there was a coffee stain on the wall, like I'd smacked her with it..." Lyn said meekly.

"I see..." Robin finished taking his notes, re-examining them as he lifted his pen, "Anything else you care to tell me?"

"Not that I can think of," she shrugged.

"All right," he stuffed his notes into his pocket, "Thanks for your help, Lyn, you've been very cooperative."

"You're going to help me, then?" she lifted her eyes to him as he stood.

"Yes, I am," he said, "If I could get you to sign this for me." He held out an affidavit and slipped it through the mail slot, "It just gives me permission to make inquiries on your behalf."

"Thank you," she signed it and closed her eyes like she was releasing a weight, "I'll be happy to answer any other questions you may have, Mr. LeBlanc." She pushed the document back through the slot.

"You can call me Robin, if you like," he offered, "and thanks, I'll pay you a visit if I need to talk to you before the trial." They waved their final goodbyes as Robin headed for the door. He was apprehended by the shoulder as soon as he attempted to exit the building and was directed into Rath.

"So, can I count on you?" the green-haired man commanded curtly.

Robin nodded, "The case seems worthwhile. I think I can help Lyn, but I'd like to make a request."

"Name it," said Rath.

The attorney's eyes flashed as they lowered carefully and threateningly at the mafioso, "I want you to stay out of it."

Rath bared his teeth, "What was that?! You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I'm telling you what will be best for Lyn," Robin said, "Staying away from her will get this investigation over with without any unnecessary questions, if you get my drift."

Rath stared at him severely for a moment, then relented, "I still want to see her... But... I suppose you have a point. Just... stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours, _capisce_?"

"Fine by me," Robin agreed. The pair shook hands and headed back to their cars. Robin lingered in the lot a little longer while he made a call, then set it to speaker as he started driving.

"LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices, how—"

"It's me, Anna, start looking at the caller ID."

"Why bother? You're the only one who's called this office in three months, other than debt collectors..."

"I'm taking the case."

"What?!"

"Lyndis Lorca's the name. She seems sincere, a real straight-laced girl, I think she's in the right, Anna."

"Be honest, was that it, or did you just like the way Don Tolstoy's daughter looked in a dress?"

"Anna! Wait... her father's the don?"

"Stepfather, but yeah, no doubt about it. I've been doing a little sleuthing since I came in this morning."

"You saw it on the morning news, didn't you?"

"Ding."

"Well, I'll call on you if I need anything else, Gumshoe Gal."

"For the record, I still think taking this girl's defense is a bad idea."

"Objection noted," he hung up. Robin read the address once more and made a quick left toward the commercial center of town.

[October 7th, 10:34 am, Heron Corporation]

Robin pulled into the lot surrounding a tall, cream-colored twelve story building, dodging a few squad cars and an area roped off with police tape. As he approached the scene, he heard a familiar voice, "Well search the back again, just to be sure. And you, go find us something to eat, for Naga's sake. It's gonna be a long day."

"Detective Fletcher," Robin called, drawing near. The detective had a cigarette in his mouth, as usual.

"Hey, if it isn't Mr. Rookie Lawyer," the detective responded, "Whatcha need?"

"I happen to be representing the defendant on this crime," the attorney said.

Colm frowned, "Now's not the time to be screwin' with me, kid, I got enough people breathing down my neck."

"I have the affidavit right here," Robin pulled it out and presented it to the detective.

He skimmed it, "You gotta be yankin' my chain... Well, hate to say it, kid, but you're up a creek with this one."

"How do you mean?" he wondered.

"Haven't you heard who's gonna prosecute this one? Lyndis, the girl you're defending, she's Don Tolstoy's stepdaughter, but then you probably knew that..."

"So?"

"So, the prosecutor's office isn't screwin' around this time: they've got Lloyd Reed on this case."

"Not ringing any bells."

"Naga, you live under a rock? Sumbitch musta won a hundred murder convictions last year alone, and not on open-and-shut cases, either. He's a monster to defense attorneys like you—picks 'em outta his teeth."

"Sounds interesting," Robin smiled, "can you let me onto the scene now?"

"Bein' nonchalant doesn't fool me for a second, kid," Detective Fletcher took a drag on his cigarette, "I been doin' this way too long."

Robin's smile stopped: he was right, that description had set the attorney a little on edge. To save face, he asked, "How long is that?"

"Four years," he detective said. Robin cocked an eyebrow, but Colm made no further remarks. The detective stuffed his hands in his pockets and waved for the attorney to follow, stepping inside and pressing an elevator call button not far from the door. He blew a puff of smoke as the pair waited. When the elevator finally descended, they hopped on and Colm pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

[October 7th, 10:38 am, Heron Corp. Sales Office]

"This is the spot," Detective Fletcher announced as the elevator chimed to let them know they had reached their destination. They entered the office, Colm waiting in the door frame, and Robin immediately began to recall the details of Lyn's story, associating them with what he saw: the first thing that caught his attention was the body on its side on the floor, arms squared up to its head as if the poor girl had just been taking a nap. Cyan hair, a neat navy shirt, and some very light blue jeans, the girl was the picture of cubicle professionalism, but she also looked quite young, similar to Lyn, the more Robin thought of it.

Sensing his gaze, Colm piped up, "Nephenee Monell, age twenty-four, apparent CoD: cerebral hemorrhage by being struck with a blunt instrument."

"I imagine that has something to do with this," Robin said, eyes trailing to a smattering of dirt-colored droplets on the walls, which were the color and apparent texture of spongecake.

The detective nodded, "The current theory is that Ms. Lorca smashed her coworker upside the head with a coffee mug nearby, causing that splatter. You'll know why if you look down."

Robin did so, seeing at his feet the remains of a seafoam-colored mug, shredded into fragments, laying about the floor. He picked one up and spotted scarlet color mixing with the paint on the outside layer and reddening the chipped white of the inner material "A bloodstain?" the attorney said aloud.

"The victim's, most likely," Detective Fletcher concurred, "It'll be double-checked by the boys in the lab, but I wouldn't count on any miracles. Besides, we already know those two were the only ones in the room at the estimated time o' death, so it's pretty much a foregone conclusion."

"What about Lyn?" Robin asked. Colm responded with a glance of ignorance. "Lyn said she was hit on the head and blacked out," he recalled.

Colm nodded, "That's what she claimed when we found her. Thought she was just delirious, or something, but there was a slight bruise on the back of her head. Probably just came from a scuffle with the victim that she's trying to use as an excuse."

"You think so?" Robin debated, not really knowing why.

Detective Fletcher scoffed, "Tch. Yeah, I do. I know you prob'ly don't wanna hear it, but it's my best guess as a result of all my experience in the field."

 _All four years of it_ , Robin noted ironically to himself.

"D'ya mind?" a voice grunted from behind them both. Robin turned his head to find a blonde woman wearing a navy suit jacket with a purple blouse underneath and black pants pushing the detective out of the way.

"It's still an active crime scene, ma'am," Colm tried to stop her.

"It's also my office, where all my friggin' work is, pig," she ignored him, storming to the back corner of the room where one office was partitioned from the other cubicles with an enclosed wall and a few tall windows. The woman glared unpleasantly at Robin, "Here to cut her up?"

"Huh?" Robin looked around, "No... uh, I'm a defense attorney..."

"Oh," her brow creased like she was tasting something sour, "even worse. I guess that means you're representing... her."

"I think so?" Robin's voice wavered, "I'm representing Lyndis Lorca's defense."

"Yeah, well," the boisterous blonde said, "don't bother, the girl's guilty as sin, and she deserves whatever's coming to her. I had bad vibes about that chick all along, and now I have confirmation... all too late."

"I take it you knew the victim and the defendant?" Robin supposed.

She dipped her head, "Yeah, I was their direct superior, which means it's my fault I didn't stop this before it happened."

"I hardly think so," said Robin, "even if the crime is as the police are reporting it now, it was probably a simple crime of passion. I doubt you had anything to do with it."

"Did I ask what you thought?" she growled.

"Sorry," he relented, offering a hand, "I'm just trying to learn the facts, here. Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law, and you are?"

"Luxberg," she spat, "Heather Luxberg."

"Do you mind if I ask you a little bit about Misses Lorca's and Monell's jobs here, Ms. Luxberg?" Robin asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she turned away marching into her office and slamming it shut. Robin noticed through the window that she sat down, placing her arms on the desk, and lay her head between them. "A real charmer, that one," Robin said.

"No kidding," Colm agreed, "I've been dealing with her since yesterday. You shoulda seen her then, she was frickin' hysterical."

"Have you questioned any of the other employees on this floor?" the attorney continued.

"Yep," Detective Fletcher took a drag on his cigarette, "There were only two others in this office space. One of 'em was the one who called the police last night, actually. They'll be in the lobby downstairs, if you wanna meet 'em."

"Please," Robin said, following him back to the elevator.

[October 7th, 11:03 am, Heron Corp. Lobby]

The lobby was gaudily decorated, such that Robin was glad he hadn't seen it on his first venture inside: garish gold trim was slapped onto every wall and fixture, and cheesy marble columns surrounded a rather impressively hideous fountain in the center. The fountain was surrounded with crystalline bath tile and featured a gold statue of a soft-faced young man with wings sprouting from his back gently stroking the neck of a proud-looking heron facing the same direction. The rest of the floor was coated in some shoddy-looking amethyst carpeting that was fading and wanted for some cleaning. Seated upon a maroon leather sofa, Robin saw two young men waiting. One was smaller in frame than the other, but still quite athletic-looking: he had bright red hair, soft blue eyes, and was waiting with his arms neatly folded in his lap, wearing a dark blue button-up shirt with a pale blue undershirt tucked neatly beneath and a gold tie, along with a pair of khakis and brown leather shoes. His companion was much more muscular, with big, broad shoulders and a sleek, slick blue crew cut and narrower eyes which were also blue. He wore a black jacket with a red t-shirt stuffed underneath and darker brown khakis, capped off by black tennis shoes.

"Hello, gentlemen, how do you do?" Robin saluted, waving a hand.

"Finally," grunted the blue-haired one, "We've been waiting forever. Can we get this done so I can go home?"

"Hector, don't be rude," his companion chided him, "We're ready to deliver our statements, officer."

"Officer?" Robin blinked, "No, I'm an attorney, representing Ms. Lyndis Lorca."

"Oh, gods," Hector rolled his eyes.

The redhead scowled at him, then smiled at the attorney, "Sorry about him, we've just been waiting a while without much sleep. Any advocate of Lyn's is a friend of mine, though." The young man offered his hand, "Eliwood Fremont. How can I be of service?"

"Robin LeBlanc," he shook the hand, "I understand that you worked in the same office as Misses Lorca and Monell?"

"That's right," Eliwood nodded, "Lyn and I worked side by side. She was a very nice girl, I don't know how this could possibly have happened." His face fell a little, "I didn't know Ms. Monell, but she was pleasant enough in the break room when I saw her. I simply can't believe Lyn would do something so... that she would... It's..."

"Eliwood's pretty shellshocked about the whole thing, as you can see," Hector said, "Though I can't blame him. Sweet, innocent Lyn just wasn't the type for murder. At least, we thought so."

"And your full name, sir?" added Robin.

"Hector Sturakst," he said, "so, what else did you want to know, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"I heard one of you called the police?" the attorney said.

"That was me," Eliwood raised his hand, "As far as I know, I was the first to see the bodies."

Robin whipped out his notepad, "Interesting. Can you tell me what you saw, and why you were there in the first place? I mean, it was after hours, right?"

"Yes, that's the thing," the redhead gave a long sigh, "About a week before... this, I started noticing Lyn and Nephenee were avoiding each other, and they wouldn't talk, however many times they passed each other. About three days ago, Nephenee talked to me and asked if I knew what was up with Lyn: I told her the same thing I just told you, that all I knew was that they had been avoiding each other recently. She told me she was under threat of losing her job because of some HR complaint."

"She said the same thing to me," Hector interjected, "Asked me the same question, too and, of course, got the same answer."

"So," Eliwood continued, "I heard through the grapevine that they were going to meet last night to hash things out. I don't usually get involved in these sorts of things—it's not my business, you know?—so I sort of forgot about it until that evening. When I thought about it again, I got a weird feeling. I won't say I'm psychic, or anything silly like that, but I just got a bad sense, and so I decided to give Lyn a call on her cell phone: no answer. I tried Nephenee after that, same deal. I was worried at that point, so I just hopped in my car and hightailed it out here. When I got up to the office..." At this point, the young man paused and swallowed.

"Go on," Robin coaxed, "tell me everything, it's important."

"I saw the scene much like it is now, I imagine: stains on the wall, Nephenee collapsed and bleeding out of her head, the broken coffee mug, and Lyn seemingly fainted just across from Nephenee."

"It looked like Lyn had 'fainted?'" Robin probed.

"Or just passed out," Eliwood strained, "I mean, I'm not sure, she just—"

"All right," the attorney understood, "just keep going. What else do you remember?"

"Uh, the window was open," Eliwood added, "I know there was a breeze, that's unusual... And... I don't know, I don't recall a whole lot, otherwise. Once I saw all that, I called the police immediately and described the scene. I waited in the lobby for them to arrive, and I've been down here ever since, essentially."

"Do you remember anything different, Mr. Sturakst?" Robin turned his head.

"Nah," he said, "I only got here a little after midnight, well after the police showed up and questioned Eliwood. I haven't even seen the body, I've just been... er, well..." Hector coughed.

Eliwood smiled at him, "Hector's been helping me out. I needed it: I thought I was going to pass out around 1 am, but Hector brought me some coffee and pulled me out of my funk."

Hector blushed and rubbed his neck, "It wasn't like I was babysitting ya, you just looked tired as hell, is all."

Eliwood laughed, "Yes, sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything, Hector's got an image to uphold with the ladies. But he's a good friend, and it would have been a rough evening without him."

"I see," Robin flipped to a new page of notes, "One last question for you fellows, if you will?"

"By all means," said the redhead.

"What is it that you and Ms. Lorca do at your jobs?"

"Oh, of course! We're sales representatives. We distribute and maintain insurance policies."

"Heron Corp. is an insurance company?"

"Yes sir, and one of the most sought-after. People pay high premiums to sign on with us."

"How old are you, Mr. Fremont?"

"Twenty-four."

"Quite young for such a position. You must have just finished college not long ago."

"Quite right. Hector and I were roommates, actually, at Ylisstol University. I went for my bachelor's in business administration, and Hector had no idea because he was there on a soccer scholarship..."

"Coulda gone pro if I hadn't rolled my damn ankle... Those Valmese are some dirty motherf—"

"—so he decided to just follow me. He asked for my help, and I was happy to oblige, as we'd become good friends by then."

"I kept the jocks from stealing his milk money."

"Very funny. Anyway, we managed to graduate just a year apart—"

"—that written exam was a buncha bull. We're supposed to be numbers guys, aren't we?"

"—but I couldn't find a stable source of employment, so I stayed in town. I moved from one small accounting job to another and helped Hector in the hopes that the two of us could make more progress together. It was three months after Hector graduated that I was approached by a nice representative from Heron Corp."

"Do you remember that representative's name?" Robin interjected.

Eliwood's eyes darted toward the ceiling, then back down, "I'm afraid it escapes me, at present. Fine gentleman, though, per my recollection. At any rate, he offered me a salary I would be insane to turn down, but I asked if I could also recommend my friend. The representative said he'd think about it, and so I held off. Apparently, after examining Hector's qualifications, they decided to accept us both. I've been working here happily for a little over a year now."

"Interesting," Robin concluded, putting his notes away, "Well, I think I've got all I need from you two, unless there's anything else you care to tell me."

"I can't think of anything," Eliwood shrugged.

"Kid's brain is fried," Hector thumbed at his coworker.

Robin smiled and nodded, "No trouble. Thanks for everything, you two, you've really helped me a lot."

"Happy to be of assistance," the redhead reciprocated.

"All right, get some rest, then," the attorney parted with a wave. He met up with Detective Fletcher, who had his back turned as he was conversing with a thin but tall young man in a police uniform. "Detective?" Robin called, "I'm going to be taking my leave."

Colm spun around and nodded, "Awright. Thanks for the heads-up. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, kid." He thanked the detective and took a few steps out before he heard the doors pushing open behind him, "Oh, one other thing!" Robin turned back. "I'm gonna have the coroner send you a copy of the autopsy report, alright?"

"Thanks," Robin said, "I appreciate that."

"No prob," the detective took another drag on his cigarette as he looked to he floor, "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

[October 8th, 12:14 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The attorney burst in rather noisily, shoving the door open and sending his jacket and various legal papers fluttering loudly in the pocket of disturbed air. It was enough to make Anna spring a few inches out of her seat before she settled down and saw who it was. "How's tricks?" the attorney saluted as he put a satchel full of papers down next to the coffee table.

"Electric company called," she said without missing a beat, "You're gonna need to pay up soon."

"Did you tell them—"

"The usual," she cut him off.

"Thanks," he raked a few fingers through his hair to straighten it out, seeing his reflection in the window before him. When he was done, he went on, drifting a little closer to her desk, "Hungry?"

"I was just about to have lunch," she nodded.

"Why don't you come with me?" he offered, "Spare yourself the expense and keep me from being alone."

"You're not going to 'forget' your wallet again, are you?" she snickered.

He frowned, "That happened one time six months ago. And I don't know why you say it like that, I really did just forget it..."

"Whatever you say," she shrugged, standing up and pulling on her scarlet jacket and throwing a yellow scarf around her neck, "but I'm leaving my wallet here, so if you 'forget,' you'll have to skip out or wash dishes."

He patted his rear pocket, smiling, "Got it right here. C'mon, got a favorite place?"

[October 8th, 12:39 pm, Middle of the Road Diner]

Robin put the menu down to find his secretary sipping from a big glass of water. She regarded him silently while she drank, then opened her mouth, "Something on your mind?"

"I've been here before," the attorney recalled a few late lunches taken in solitude in the back corner of the old restaurant, "but that waitress... I've never seen her be so friendly. Do you two know each other?"

"By extension, kinda," she replied.

Robin rolled his eyes, "Well, thanks, that explains everything."

In a moment, the pair heard a few footsteps down the aisle. Robin turned around to find a man with olive hair and wearing a chef's apron wave to the redhead, "Anna! How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doin' okay. How about you?" she cooed, "You're looking fit as a fiddle."

He laughed, "Well, you know, Sully keeps me in shape."

"Come here, big fella," she stood and wrapped him in a hug as he came close. They grinned at each other and Anna sat back down, gesturing up, "Robin, this is Stahl Mollen. He owns the place. Stahl, this is Robin LeBlanc, my new boss."

"Sure," Stahl sized him up as they shook hands, "I've seen him before. You were under Fado's wing for a while, weren't you?"

"That's right."

"Well, and now you've got the run of the office? That's great. Well, hey, any friend of Anna's is a friend of mine. What can I make for you guys today?" The pair placed their orders and Stahl assured them the food would be out before long.

The two exchanged glances for a minute before Anna cocked an eyebrow, "What?"

"Nothing," Robin shrugged, "You've got a lot of friends around here, huh?"

"I guess so," she took another long sip from her water.

The attorney gave up and looked back down at his notes, spilling out of a navy blue folder that was eating up half of his end of the table. He reexamined the scrawling diligently while Anna watched in silence. He had gained a lot of information in a short period, and for that he was grateful, but it also meant he didn't have a lot of time to wrap his head around the significance of the evidence: there were a lot of threads hanging loose that could shed some light if they were pulled taut, but there wasn't any more time to do so in today's investigation. He would have to prepare for the trial, and drag out the remaining gaps in the story there. That reminded Robin, he wanted to mention something to Anna: "Oh, they told me Lloyd Reed was going to be he prosecutor on this trial."

Anna stopped and gravely swallowed her water, then sighed in an effort to recover her composure, "Makes sense. This is Don Tolstoy's little girl we're talking about. If the prosecutor's office can put her away, they'll have the don by the balls."

"Sounds like something out of an old black-and-white movie, doesn't it?" Robin shrugged.

"Don't screw around with Llyod Reed on the opposite side of the courtroom," Anna said, "That's what I've heard, anyway."

"Not really an answer, but thanks anyway," the attorney sighed. With the sound of a few footsteps, the food arrived: a large bowl of salad topped with cranberries, a few croutons, and a raspberry vinaigrette landed in front of Anna, and a hearty-looking turkey sandwich drenched in steaming brown gravy slid out before Robin.

[The Turtle Dove Turnabout ~ Day 1 Investigation-End]


	5. The Turtledove Turnabout: Trial Day 1

[October 8th, 9:06 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

The air conditioning was still running in the lobby despite it being only sixty degrees outside, which made the shiny linoleum of the floors reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights seem even colder than usual. The room was overtaken with this sense, as even the bailiff, arms folded in front of the door to the courtroom, shivered every now and again when he assumed no one was looking. Otherwise, the room was quite silent. Dull murmurs of other trials could be heard in the hall like plays acted by ghosts on an unseen stage, but none of that could distract the young attorney who busied himself by laboriously reexamining every note he had taken on the case. Of course, reviewing the facts was mostly meaningless at this point: he had every detail essentially burned into his mind, but he was feeling anxious, and flipping the pages and staring at his messy, rapid handwriting offered the impression that he was doing something.

It was a little less than ten more minutes of this torturous waiting before something finally changed. Robin saw the glow of red and blue lights shimmer against the pastel walls for a moment and assumed he knew their meaning. The sound of a pair of doors slamming shut prompted him to close his notebook and look up. A stout police officer was pushing a handcuffed Lyndis Lorca through the heavy glass doors. Robin rose to meet them. "Good morning, Lyn," he offered clinically.

"Good morning, Mr. LeBlanc," she said. Dark shades underscored her half-closed eyes.

"How are you feeling?" the attorney continued, unsure of what this question would accomplish.

"I'm all right," she said simply, blinking a few times, "How are _you_ feeling? About the case, I mean."

"I'm feeling strongly about it," he said, clenching his fists to assure her he was serious and putting on a smile.

"That's good," she seemed to yawn, "Um... the officer here told me I might have to get up and testify... Is that true?"

The attorney nodded, "Most likely. The prosecutor will want you to explain your actions, but it will mostly be to try to show that what you're claiming is impossible. They just want to paint you in a bad light, but I'll be there to stop them."

"That's a relief," she smiled, "What should I say if they call me up?"

"Just be honest. Tell them everything exactly as it happened; the worst thing you can do to yourself is try to stretch the truth," Robin answered.

"I see," she thought about that for a moment, glancing back at the doors, "and you'll be in there to help, right?" She finished this question with a bright, almost playful smile.

"Of course," the attorney was unsure of what to make of the gesture.

"Okay," her head bent as she sighed, "It's just... I'm a little... uh, Rath told me that I shouldn't answer questions, especially without an attorney present. I don't know why, exactly, but he was very insistent upon it. 'And not a word about your life at home,' he told me."

"Uh, yeah," Robin swallowed, "don't worry. I'll monitor the types of questions you're asked. Just tell the truth, like I said, and we'll come out okay."

"Okay," she hummed, "I guess I have to get going now, huh?" She took a wary glance at the officer who still had a hand pressed to her back, "I'll see you in a minute, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Right," her attorney nodded, "just stay calm, Lyn."

The officer continued to lead the girl into the courtroom and Robin rubbed his head fitfully for another few minutes of note-skimming until the bailiff in front of the door cleared his throat, "Mr. LeBlanc, court is just about to convene, if you would be so kind."

Robin stood, packing his files away, and walked through the doors.

[October 8th, 9:32 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

A gavel pounded against wood to silence a few murmurs. Robin noticed that the press were back in full force for today's trial, too: he hadn't heard much about the upcoming headlines, but Lyn's relation to the Tolstoys was guaranteed to draw in some attention. A few off-duty cops, sporting their badges and stern looks, occupied seats in the gallery. Maybe a few of their friends had been iced by the Tolstoys. Robin swallowed hard: he didn't want to think about what they were wishing upon him and Lyn at this moment.

Something else attracted Robin's attention, however: his opposing counsel. For as much of a buffoon as Virion Canarde had proved himself to be, at least he looked the part of a prosecutor; the man across from Robin's desk did not come across as one who routinely spent long hours in offices examining police dossiers in order to step into a dingy public court for several hours and attempt to condemn small, local criminals. Maybe that was because he wasn't: Colm had said they were saving him, after all, for important trials, but the man still looked nothing like Robin had been expecting of such a weapon. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with neatly cropped but youthfully stylish wheat-blond hair and stubble to match darkening his v-shaped chin. His eyes were cat-like and, appropriately, a vaguely gold color. He wore not a suit, but a long navy coat that covered a black blazer and barely visible white undershirt further diminished by a wide red power tie. He blinked only a few times while Robin investigated his appearance, suggesting he was conducting a similar assessment.

"Ahem," the judge cleared his throat, "If you would all please be silent. Good morning, court is now in session for the trial of Ms. Lyndis Lorca. Are the defense and prosecution adequately prepared?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin nodded, stealing a breath.

"Indeed, Your Honor," answered the man on the other end of the room.

"It's been quite a while since I last saw you in my courtroom, Mr. Reed," added the judge.

"Quite," the prosecutor concurred, smiling gently, "Your Honor will forgive me for my absence. My promotion means I don't always have the time to spend in lower courts such as these, but I'm of the opinion that justice is just as important at every level of the system, which is why I still drop by local courts whenever I'm able."

 _Sure,_ Robin thought, that's _why you're here_.

"And an admirable position that is," said the judge, mirroring the smile, "would you care to introduce yourself to those less familiar with you by providing your opening statement, Mr. Reed?"

"But of course, Your Honor," the man closed his eyes and let his chest rise and fall, "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, as well as the jury, thank you so much for gracing our humble hall of justice with your very valuable time this morn. My name is Lloyd Reed. Ordinarily, I do my prosecuting at the territorial level, which is why you may be more or less familiar with me. As I told His Honor, however, my intention is to exact justice wherever I go, and so that is why I am here today." He adjusted his tie, "Ladies and gentlemen, today we are presented with a very clear, and very tragic case: the case of Ms. Nephenee Monell, who was most callously taken from her friends and family by the hands of her very own coworker, Ms. Lyndis Lorca." A few murmurs spread out through the crowd and some gazes landed on Lyn, who was couched in the gallery at the extreme end toward Robin. "Now," Lloyd continued, "some of you may have heard of my opposing counsel today, too, in regards to an impressive defense he put on just a few days ago, isn't that right, Mr. Robin LeBlanc?"

Robin's eyes widened when he heard his name. Like a deer in headlights, he stood and murmured, "Uh, yes, that was me."

"Thank you," Lloyd dismissed. Robin sat down. "Mr. LeBlanc has already proved himself a competent attorney, which is good: we prosecutors can't go about losing our edge. We two sides of the law must be constantly in conflict in order to hone the sword of justice, so I will appreciate the provision of Mr. LeBlanc's staunch defense. He will try to convince you, ladies and gentlemen, that Ms. Lorca was somehow incapable of the dreadful murder, or that another might have been responsible, but when you hear from the defendant herself, as well as the testimony of a few of her coworkers, you will know why that conclusion is flawed. You will hear that Ms. Lorca, following a feud with Ms. Monell, arranged to meet in their office after hours. You will see evidence of the coffee mug she used to do young Ms. Monell in when a scuffle erupted, and then..." Lloyd Reed stroked his hair out of his face, "Then, you will declare Ms. Lorca guilty, and see that she is properly punished for her actions."

Surprised looks spread around the courtroom as Robin felt heat crawling up his collar. They couldn't actually be believing this charlatan's shtick, could they?

"Very well put, Mr. Reed," said the judge.

Of course they were.

"Would you care to call your first witness?"

"Yes," Lloyd smiled, "let's not dally. Let's give it to the court straight from the horse's mouth: the prosecution calls Ms. Lyndis Lorca, please." As a few whispers were let out, Lyn stood and trudged her way to the defendant stand, looking at Robin as she made her way up. "Good day, Ms. Lorca."

"G-Good day," she responded politely.

"Could you repeat your name and state your occupation for the record?"

"My name is Lyndis Lorca, and I'm a sales representative at Heron Corporation."

"Very good," Llyod dipped his head before glancing at the gallery and then the jury, "Now, Ms. Lorca, would you be so kind as to describe to the court your version of events?"

She paused, rubbing her thumb over her palm, "Uh, my 'version of events,' sir?"

Lloyd's nostrils flared as he let out a quick exhale, "Just tell the court what happened on the night of the crime from your perspective, Ms. Lorca."

"Oh," she blinked, "Well, that's simple enough, I guess. It all started a little over a week ago. I was just carrying on about my work like any other day, but I got this weird email from Nephenee. It said I had robbed her of a promotion—I had been assigned a new, higher-grade pool of clientele recently, as well as a pay increase—but, anyway, she seemed really upset, like I had deliberately thwarted her when we really didn't even know each other very well. She avoided me for the next few days after that, and I started to get worried. I sent her a reply email on the same day, but she never responded, so I just didn't understand. Then, two days ago, I guess that was the 6th, she stopped me moving between offices and asked if we could talk later that evening. I agreed, because I wanted to put whatever this weird squabble was behind us, and so we arranged to meet at eight o'clock that evening."

"And did you both show up to the meeting?"

"We did. Nephenee... um... sorry, my memory of this is a little hazy..."

Robin felt his cheeks flush as a few previously inattentive eyes locked in on Lyn.

"It was a terribly rainy night. We met up in front of the office, and I walked in right behind Nephenee. When we got into the office, she told me about hearing that I filed an HR complaint, which wasn't true. I told her as much, but she wouldn't believe it. She started complaining about management, and I think she was starting to get angry... Eventually, she lunged forward at me and shoved me back into the cubicle, which gave me a bump on my head. I can't pretend I wasn't kind of annoyed, so I shoved her back, but I guess that little bump did more damage than I thought, because after that I felt everything go black and I passed out. The next thing I remember is being carried out of the building by a pair of policemen."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," Lloyd offered his hands, "Ms. Lorca claims she fell unconscious after shoving her coworker, who ended up dead that evening." Some in the court laughed audibly, prompting a grimace from Robin. "The prosecution has reason to doubt Ms. Lorca's claims, however, and we will bring forth further testimony in order to elucidate our reasoning."

"Mr. LeBlanc, any objections to this testimony?" inquired the judge.

"Um," Robin hesitated, "Lyn, are you sure about that last part? You definitely saw Nephenee shove you, and you blacked out when you shoved her back?"

"Saw it? I felt it," she said, a little insulted, "Yes, Nephenee pushed me and I hit my head. Well, I guess that's when I hit my head. I don't remember feeling that bump until after I woke up, so I figured that had to be it."

"I see," Robin sighed, "thank you. No further questions." This was going to be a long trial.

"Splendid," declared Lloyd Reed, "Now, in order to acquaint us most accurately with the case, the prosecution would like to call the chief investigator on this incident, Detective Colm Fletcher."

Without another word, Colm Fletcher sauntered up to the stand, taking Lyn's place with an unlit cigarette resting sumptuously between his lips. As the sound of "name and occupation" began to leave Lloyd's mouth, the detective sneered at the gallery and stated, "My name is Colm Fletcher. I'm a homicide detective, and the chief investigator on the crime at issue in today's trial."

 _At least I can count on you_ , thought Robin.

"Straight to the point," the prosecutor grinned, "I like that. Well, then, good detective, don't keep us in suspense: please, tell the court your findings."

Colm cleared his throat, "The story shakes down like this: my people arrived on the scene at 8:42 pm, responding to a call from within the building. We found the defendant lying unconscious right by the victim. Both women had bruises on the backs of their heads, which was confirmed by a paramedic who came on the scene about ten minutes after the officers responded to the call. Ms. Monell was also reported to have numerous bruises along her back according to the autopsy, probably sustained in a shoving match with the defendant. The killing blow, as determined by the autopsy, was a severe contusion on the back of the head, delivered likely as a result of blunt force trauma. That explanation is consistent with some other evidence we found: a ceramic coffee cup, shattered to bits around the two women and dripping with the victim's blood, and a stain from a spray of brown liquid that we can reasonably conclude is coffee. From all that, the conclusion seems pretty obvious: the defendant was fighting with the victim and smashed her head in with that coffee mug, killing her instantly, and then passed out, either due to shock or injuries sustained during the fight."

"Mr. LeBlanc," offered the judge, "your cross-examination."

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin sighed, happy to he able to speak at last, "Detective Fletcher, let's talk about Ms. Monell's injuries."

"All right."

"You mentioned that she had wounds along her back? Could you elaborate?"

"Not 'wounds,' per se. Bruises. The coroner said she had bruises in spots on her back that were indicative of additional blunt force trauma."

"Could you tell the court which spots, specifically?"

"Well... skipping the medical mumbo-jumbo, they'd be most severe on the shoulders, some light ones along her spine, and a few worse ones around her tailbone, a little ways above her hips."

"Objection!" Robin cried, "Detective Fletcher, surely you can see why that makes no sense."

"W-Well..."

Lloyd Reed slammed a fist on his desk to announce himself, "Since you brought it up, maybe you'd care to tell the court, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"If I must," Robin nodded, "Those bruises are totally inconsistent with the detective's explanation: if Lyn and Nephenee were fighting, how would Nephenee's back get bruised, but not her chest, arms, or anywhere more available?"

"Objection!" answered the prosecution, "Weren't you listening, Mr. LeBlanc? The pair were in a 'shoving match:' they didn't physically assault one another, except to push each other into the walls of the cubicle, until Ms. Lorca took the coffee mug to Ms. Monell's head."

"But then why did Lyn only have a bruise on the back of her head?"

"Maybe she took fewer hits. Maybe she ended the fight before the victim had much of a chance to fight back."

"But how about the head injury: why would it be on the back of the victim's head if she were face-to-face with the defendant?"

"One can't possibly account for the angle that might present itself in mid-brawl, Mr. LeBlanc. Where the blow was struck signifies nothing."

"I'm afraid I must concur with Mr. Reed in this case," the judge noted aloud, "Objection overruled, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _Dammit_ , Robin cursed, _he's got a lot less give than Virion_.

"Any further questions, Mr. LeBlanc?" inquired the judge.

"Er, yes, actually," Robin gathered himself, "Detective Fletcher, you mentioned that the call for the police came from within the building, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know who made that call?"

"The official report says it came from the CEO's office."

Robin paused, cocking an eyebrow. Colm's facial response told the attorney he shared his confusion.

"Ah, but that was an error made by the investigative team," the prosecutor wagged his finger, "I have an updated report with me that clarifies the error: the call was made by a cell phone whose GPS positioning showed the caller near the CEO's office, thus the mix-up."

"Objection, Your Honor!" Robin complained, "The defense and prosecution are supposed to have access to the same body of police investigation material, why did I never see this updated report?"

Lloyd Reed shook his head, "The update only came in this morning, a few minutes after the trial began, else I would have gladly shared it with you, Mr. LeBlanc. You may have my copy to examine, if you so desire."

"I do," Robin assumed a confrontational tone, receiving the document bitterly. _I can't believe the judge is just letting him get away with that excuse... How does he have everyone here so spellbound? Well, it's not working on me. I'm onto you, Lloyd Reed_.

"Well," the blond prosecutor began anew, "With that matter settled, I think the next logical step would be to question the caller himself, don't you? You may step down, Detective Fletcher; the prosecution calls Eliwood Fremont."

As instructed, the young redheaded man stood from a corner of the gallery and proceeded to the witness stand, replacing a frowning Detective Fletcher. He assumed his position with a polite smile, beaming his blue eyes out to the courtroom.

"Good day, lad," Lloyd began, "Could you tell the court your name and occupation?"

"Eliwood Fremont, sir," he obeyed, "I'm a sales representative at Heron Corporation, just like Lyn and Nephenee."

"Indeed," Lloyd bowed his head, "Did you work at all with Misses Lorca or Monell?"

"I did," he nodded, "Lyn worked right beside me in the office, and Nephenee was never really far away, although she was usually running around."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Fremont, is the court correct in assuming it was you who contacted the authorities that evening?" the prosecutor continued.

"Yes," Eliwood answered, "I arrived on the scene after the... uh, incident that resulted in Ms. Monell's death, and saw what had occurred, so I called the police on my cell phone straight away."

"Could you tell us, in your own words, what you witnessed, Mr. Fremont?" Lloyd's fingers cupped his chin.

"Um... certainly," the young man nodded, "When I went into the office, it was much as Mr. Fletcher described it: there was a spray of coffee dripping down the walls, and on the floor was... was... Um, Ms. Monell lay dead, there was blood pooling around her head, and Lyn... Lyn was nearby, unconscious, as it appeared. I tried to rouse her, but she didn't budge. The air in the room was cold, too: the window had been left open. The whole thing... I mean, the sight of those two... I, uh... I felt very uncomfortable, and so I stepped out of the room, a little ways down the hall, before I made the call."

"Explaining your question, Mr. LeBlanc," noted the prosecutor, "Mr. Fremont 'stepped out' to a room directly beneath the CEO's office, and so the police report merely misidentified the location. What's most important here, however, is that we have a witness who can place everything at the scene exactly as it was when the detective arrived not long after, meaning there's no room to doubt the facts of this case."

 _He says that, but I'm not so sure_ , thought Robin, _Something about the way Eliwood's looking makes me suspicious. I wonder..._

The judge shrugged his shoulders in Robin's direction, "Cross-examination, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Mr. Fremont," he said aloud, "I wanted to ask you momentarily about that window."

"Yes?" the young man's eyes brightened.

"First, is it typical to leave windows open after closing, Mr. Fremont?" Robin put on his most professional air.

He shook his head, "Just the opposite: company policy is to close and lock all windows before leaving for the day. It's even more bizarre because it was pouring that night. Ordinarily, that'd be a supervisor's job, since they're the ones who leave last."

"And do you recall opening, or do you recall anyone else in the office opening that particular window at any point on October 6th?" he pressed.

"No, sir," Eliwood said curtly.

"Objection!" Heads turned to face Lloyd, who waggled his finger, "This court won't be so easily led away from the truth by the same tricks, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _Tricks?!_ Robin fumed internally, _You're the one pulling new evidence out of thin air!_

"Let me guess," the prosecutor smirked, "you were planning to suggest that a third party slipped in through the window?"

"Er, well—"

"Impossible," Lloyd snapped his fingers so that the sound reverberated throughout the courtroom, "In case you've forgotten, Mr. LeBlanc, Misses Lorca and Monell's office was on the eleventh floor. It was more than 120 feet off the ground, meaning unless you happened to have a rope or an aircraft, there would be no reaching such a window."

"But—"

"And before you say anything stupid, there were a number of other buildings nearby from which anyone could have easily spotted a person scaling Heron Corp's office, and there was no rope found on the premises at any time during the investigation."

 _Shoot_ , Robin's face fell, _he read me pretty well. I guess it was pretty obvious what I was going for, especially given how much an open window saved me last trial... Still, I have to believe there's something Eliwood isn't telling me. I wonder if I could press him on something else..._

"Your Honor," Llyod inhaled, "having evidently silenced the defense, I would like to suggest that we move on from this questioning."

"Hold it!" Robin commanded, "Mr. Fremont, I have something else important to ask you!"

"What is it?" he blinked.

"I was wondering, what led you to go to the office in the first place?"

"Eh? Oh... I wish I knew, truly. I knew Lyn and Nephenee were fighting, and I knew they were meeting that evening, so I was a little worried... I was feeling nervous about their safety that evening, so I called Lyn's phone, but she didn't answer. I tried Nephenee after that, but I got the same result, and that's when I really started getting anxious. When I heard that slam outside the building, I ran to the elevator—"

The attorney's face stretched as his eyebrows jumped up. The prosecutor had a similar reaction, as he clenched his fist while staring in the witness's direction. "Could you repeat that, Mr. Fremont?" Robin pounced, "What did you hear?"

The redhead's eyes shifted to each side of the room, "Uh, I heard a sort of thud outside the building, in the direction of our office."

"Clearly, it was the sound of Ms. Lorca hitting her victim, or perhaps Ms. Monell's body falling over after the attack," Lloyd tacked on.

"I'm not so convinced," replied Robin, "Mr. Fremont, did you encounter anything else that seemed strange on your way in?"

"Um, I'm not sure," he rubbed his neck, "The elevator was kind of slow, I suppose. I... I can't say."

"Do your inquiries have a purpose, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge demanded, "Is there some greater significance to Mr. Fremont's observations?"

"Of course there isn't," Lloyd Reed shook his head, "Mr. LeBlanc is simply grasping at straws in an effort to distract the court from the truth, as is apparently his habit. So what if Mr. Fremont heard a noise? It can be explained. There's no point to any of this."

 _I have a theory_ , Robin thought, _but there's no proving it right now. I can't fight without the proper tools. Better to just sit back and see how this one plays out. Maybe I can just redirect the conversation and get a little more information._

"Well," Robin's voice cracked, feeling heat upon his neck, "between the open window, the clandestine meeting, the slow elevator, and the mysterious sound, I'd like to hear from the supervisor Mr. Fremont mentioned, I think."

"Oh-ho," the prosecutor chuckled, "I'm glad we're in agreement. In order to provide the last and most decisive proof of my allegations, the prosecution would like to call the victim and defendant's superior, Ms. Heather Luxberg."

The blonde was wearing a mauve suit that didn't fit her shoulders properly as she marched up to the witness stand and replaced Eliwood. In contrast to that lone display of formality, she wore jeans and flat white shoes, although her eyes managed to captivate many looks from around the room. She placed her hand on her hip when she faced the two attorneys.

"Name and occupation?" Lloyd demanded.

"You just heard it," she rolled her eyes.

"For the record," he insisted.

"Heather Luxberg," she droned, "I'm a sales division manager at Heron Corp, meaning I'm the immediate superior of both he defendant and Ms. Monell—er, the victim." When she finished, realization flashed in her eyes and she glowered at Robin, who lamented his luck and shrunk slightly.

"Ms. Luxberg," Lloyd began, "given your position, would you mind telling the court if you knew of any conflict occurring between Misses Lorca and Monell?"

"Yeah, I knew," she frowned, "I had heard from Nephenee that Lyn had been avoiding her a bit at work. She talked to me about it, but I told her it was more of an HR kinda problem. Maybe a day later, I got a notification from HR that she'd been harassing Lyn. Now, that struck me as weird, because Nephenee had never harassed another person in her goddamn life, if I had to bet, and she certainly had never shown signs of confrontational behavior in the two years, so I had my doubts, but I passed the message on anyway, but then they both just stopped getting near each other. Now I feel pretty confident that complaint was a set-up: Lyn was trying to get Nephenee angry, and then get her fired, but when that didn't work, she agreed to that meeting and sprung a more violent kind of trap."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," bowed Lloyd, "Even before the crime took place, the defendant and victim were at odds, and the defendant even tried to get the victim fired. When she failed, the defendant arranged a meeting with her victim and killed her. The circumstances of that murder are supported by evidence found at the scene by detectives, and the findings of those detectives are in turn supported by the testimony of the individual who contacted the police. There is no doubt about the truth of this case."

"I must say, I'm inclined to agree," nodded the judge, "The facts do seem exceptionally clear and well extracted. Still, in the interest of fairness, I turn it over to your cross-examination, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Thank you, Your Honor," he sighed, "Ms. Luxberg, can you account for the open window that Mr. Fremont observed?"

"Objection!" shouted the prosecutor, "Enough, Mr. Leblanc: that window is immaterial to the case, it is impossible for anyone to have entered through it."

"But—"

The judge pounded his gavel, "I concur with Mr. Reed: it seems highly doubtful that anyone might have made use of the window. I grant that its being open is an oddity, but without evidence from you, Mr. LeBlanc, I'm afraid I can't see any reason to consider it anything more than that."

"W-Well, how about this?" Robin tried to recover, "Ms. Luxberg, you seem very sure that Ms. Lorca's complaint was false. Why is that?"

"Because, Nephenee never harassed anyone in that damn office!" she snarled.

"How do you know that?" he continued.

"Because I saw her all the time! I watched her when she interacted with that girl, and she never had a bad word about her! It was nonsense!" Heather continued to growl.

"Objection!" Lloyd spat, "Quit badgering the witness."

"Is there a point to this, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, reaching for his gavel.

"My ultimate question to you, then, Ms. Luxberg, is this: if all that is true, why would Lyn file the complaint in the first place?"

"W-What..?"

"You heard me. Why would Lyn file a complaint with your HR department if she never had problems with Nephenee?"

"Because she wanted Nephenee fired!"

"But why?"

"Now, listen here—"

"It doesn't make any sense," Robin shook his head, "The prosecution, at the conclusion of this testimony, has claimed at least two things: Lyn and Nephenee started fighting over an email sent to Lyn that said Lyn had stolen a promotion from Lyn, and Lyn made a harassment complaint. But it was also claimed that the two were avoiding each other, so how could that happen?"

"Just what are you saying?" Lloyd folded his arms.

"Lyn and Nephenee both said they were avoiding each other, and that fact was confirmed by multiple witnesses, so answer me this: how could Lyn allege harassment if everyone near them knew they were deliberately avoiding one another? If Nephenee never got involved, as you say, the allegation should have disappeared, but according to you, she was disciplined to some degree. How could that be?" Robin folded his arms.

"Your Honor," scoffed Lloyd, "this is completely irrelevant. I don't know why the defense is so eager to plague us with logistical questions that have no bearing on the case—"

"Hey, lawyer," Heather interjected, "Defense guy. What did you say about an email?"

"Didn't you hear?" Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Lyn mentioned in her testimony that the reason she started avoiding Nephenee was because she got an email from Nephenee accusing her of stealing a promotion."

"What?" her face screwed up, "But she never sent any such email."

"Ms. Luxberg—"

"And how do you know that?" Robin noticed.

Heather was dumbstruck for a moment, "Uh... uh... I was... as a manager, I'm an administrator on all of my employees' work email accounts... I can see anything they send or receive."

Robin turned to the gallery, "Lyn, Eliwood, is that true?"

"...No," they said in unison. Murmurs picked up through the crowd.

Robin turned back to Heather and pressed his advantage, "Now, why are you lying to us, Ms. Luxberg? I'm just asking for the truth."

"You lousy, rotten... I oughta shove my foot straight up your—"

"Ms. Luxberg!" the attorney slapped his desk with both hands, "Tell the court the truth! Why are you lying about your interaction with Nephenee?"

"Sh-Shut up!" she growled, "You bastard! I hate you! I'm not saying a word!"

"Seems we're at an impasse, Mr. LeBlanc," remarked the judge, "Is there any way we can continue? Do you have something to tell us?"

"That's right!" shouted Lloyd, "If you're so sure Ms. Luxberg is lying, why don't you tell us the truth, then: what is Ms. Luxberg lying about with regards to Nephenee?"

Robin shrugged. _I sure as hell hope I'm right about this_. "Ms. Luxberg, I believe the pieces have fallen into place. There's only one reason why you so staunchly defend Nephenee and know every detail of her struggle, why you were so broken up when you arrived the morning after the crime, why you acted so contemptuously to Lyn and her attorney, why you've lied to insulate yourself from questions about her... Heather Luxberg, you were in a romantic relationship with Nephenee Monell!"

Heather stepped back, then hung her head, letting her long, flowing, golden hair droop over her face. After a moment of silence, she sighed and lifted her head back up, "You're right, of course."

"Huh?!" Lloyd's hand tensed as it grasped the end of his desk.

Heather's eyes appeared glassy as her mouth spread into a smile, "I mean, could I make it any more obvious? I tried to hide, to pretend when I was at work, but, really, I don't think anyone would be surprised. It's not right for me to get close to one of my subordinates—breach of contract and all that—but Nephenee..." The blonde let out a long sigh, "If you'd only known her, you'd have given up anything to be with her, too. She was the greatest: passionate, smart, humble, a good listener... So... there was no way I was gonna sit back and let her good name be ruined by that... _hussy_." Heather indicated Lyn with her finger, hissing as she pronounced the word.

"And because of that," Robin tread carefully, "you've been holding back something else, haven't you? Something that affects how you're seeing this whole picture."

Heather only sniffled. "And just what is it you claim the witness is holding back?" Lloyd beat his desk with his fist.

"The ID registration records, right, Heather?" Robin pleaded, "There's something bad on them, isn't there?"

"ID registration?" repeated the judge, cocking an eyebrow.

Robin elaborated, "When an employee enters certain rooms, like the office the defendant and victim worked in, they have to use an employee ID that stamps the time of their entry or exit."

"Ah," nodded the judge, "but why would Ms. Luxberg conceal something like that? It seems like important evidence for the police investigation."

She swiped a lock of hair out of her face and pulled a crumpled, haphazardly folded scrap of paper out of her pocket and lobbed it at Robin, "Oh, shut up and just take the stupid thing."

Robin read it, smoothing out the riveted edges, and felt his pupils narrow, "Look here... 'Nephenee Monell: 7:57 pm, Lyndis Lorca: 8:04 pm... Nephenee Monell: 8:22 pm.' That's the last log for the day."

"I'm confused," the judge admitted, "what, exactly, is so significant about those times?"

"They're around when the meeting was supposed to take place..." Lloyd swallowed as realization hit him.

"But more importantly, it shows that Nephenee approached the door shortly before Eliwood came onto the scene and phoned the police. If this record is to be believed... Nephenee was up and moving, she left the room, several minutes before Eliwood found her dead, but Lyn never left," The attorney concluded.

The judge's eyes widened now, too, "What?! Why, but this changes everything we assumed about this case... if Ms. Lorca was unconscious, but Ms. Monell was still alive... The facts of this case are completely altered."

"You know..." Lloyd had shut his eyes and was clenching his fists, "It's a serious offense to withhold information from the police."

"As if I care," Heather rolled her eyes, though the tears in them remained, "Everything that matters to me is gone now. You think I'm scared of jail time? Idiot."

The judge banged his gavel a few times, "Well... this is certainly an interesting development. And, for the time being, it appears both defense and prosecution lack sufficient evidence to prove their cases. As a result, I will hereby postpone this trial until tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, I will expect both counsels to conduct thorough reexaminations of the evidence and to find all the information necessary to settle this case, am I understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," both lawyers concurred.

"Very well then, this court is adjourned."

[October 8th, 2:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin nodded solemnly to Lyn as the guards led her away. One more night in a holding cell was better than a decade in a federal prison, he had assured her, as well as himself, because those shimmering emerald eyes were hard to turn away. Before they left, Lyn glanced at one of the guards and wriggled her hand a bit in the cuffs that pinned them to her back. She entreated the guard with those same eyes, then made her request, facing the attorney: she wanted him to take her hand, if only for a moment. Robin blushed a little, but it was an easy request to obey, so he walked behind her and put his hand on top of hers. His palm dwarfed hers, the delicate porcelain hand beneath his was only about half the size, if that, and so when she felt the pressure from his touch, she folded it into his whole hand, interlacing their fingers first, and then shrinking it into a ball, expecting him to do the same. He complied. Her hands felt cold.

When that episode was concluded, he returned to her face, which was now bearing a ghost of contentment. She thanked him and let herself be led away.

Rath wasn't as pleased. He made that much known when he seized the attorney by the shoulder from behind, "What the hell was that?"

He whipped around, feeling his heart skip, "What?!"

"Why were you getting friendly with her just now?" the young man demanded, eyes narrowing.

"She asked me to take her hand," he reported, "nothing more. She's feeling afraid and alone, and it was the least I could do to ease her suffering."

"The least you could do is jack," Robin had the sense that Rath was holding his tongue, his cheeks twisting as his jaw tried to find the words, "She's my sister. I don't need anyone getting in her business, least of all her creepy, slimeball lawyer.

Robin's fists clenched, "I only did it because she asked. All I did was take the poor girl's hand. I worked with Fado Verlaine for years, I know how this works, and I know how to keep it from escalating."

"'Know how this works?'" the mafioso repeated, anger stinging his voice, "How _what_ works, you asshole?"

"What just happened there," the attorney tried to soften his voice, "She doesn't actually want anything to do with me, she's just in a dark place. She sees someone helping her, someone talking to her when no one else will believe, and someone who's trying to help her make sense of it all, and so she tries, with or without knowing it, to pay the feeling back by acting romantic."

Rath bared his teeth and seized the attorney by his lapels, "You sayin' she's loose, you scumbag? You callin' my sister a floozy? 'Cause I'll break your scrawny neck right here, in full view of everyone, you piece o' garbage!"

"Listen!" Robin commanded, only half-succeeding at remaining calm, "I'm not saying that at all! I'm saying she's confused, and she wants to thank me, but doesn't know exactly how. A week after the trial, it'll have all sublimed and she won't give me a second thought, but right now she's just trying to manage her feelings. I'm saying this because I've seen it before, I've been taught about it, and I've been shown how other attorneys destroyed their careers because of it. Romancing a client is completely unethical, and I'd probably be disbarred for it. It's not happening."

Rath set him down, jabbing a finger into his chest, "Well, you just listen here, awright? It better not be happening, 'cause if it is, you don't need to worry about the trial, I'll kill you before it's over. Just keep your filthy mitts off my sister, you got that?"

"Sure," Robin breathed, hoping to end the conflict.

"Good," the mafioso spat, whipping around and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Robin sighed as he watched a few of the guards in the lobby raise their eyebrows. He was glad none of the jurors had seen that, else Lyn would be in serious trouble. But for today, they were safe. That meant more work tomorrow, but at least Robin could breathe easy for an instant. With that said, he remembered, and picked up his phone, putting in the number.

The call was answered after just two rings, "Hey, Robin."

"So, you finally listened to me," he grinned.

"I was just finishing up lunch," she muttered, "What do you want?"

"Uh, I just finished the trial," he said, checking his memory to ensure that was the case.

"Oh!" he heard the sound of a plate moving and her stuffing down the rest of her food. He could hear her half-full cheek as she spoke, "What happened? Did you get the little mafia princess off?"

"Well, they suspended the trial until—"

"I mean, I know you got her off, the way her voice sounded when she phoned the office yesterday..."

"Anna, c'mon!" he huffed.

"Hey," she chuckled, "I'm not judgin'. She's a pretty girl, and she'll keep you well connected for life, Mr. Mob Lawyer."

"Anna," he fumed, "you told me to call you after the end of the trial, and I quote, 'To make sure I'm still alive, 'cause gods only know what could happen to me on this silly case.' I'm trying to comply to your request. If you're just gonna screw with me, I'm hanging up."

"All right, all right, settle down," she sighed, "Well, go on, what's the story?"

"The trial's suspended. I have to investigate again tomorrow and be prepared for a second day of testimony."

"So, baby steps, at least, huh?"

"I guess. I'm glad I got this far, anyway."

"How was Mr. Lloyd 'Eats-Defense-Attorneys-for-Breakfast' Reed?"

"Good. I mean, bad. I mean... he was better than most prosecutors I've seen, even with Fado—"

"You've only seen two not with Fado, so..."

"Not the point. He's no pushover, that's for sure. He controls the court really well, and he's smart enough to match me blow for blow, to anticipate things. But, then again, he's not completely immune to being thrown for a loop. Just gotta keep on my toes."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"I wish. I'm taking it one moment at a time."

"Will you be coming back to the office before closing?"

"Yeah, I've got some reading to do. Plus, I'm starving. I'll be leaving in a sec, I should be there in about half an hour, depending on traffic."

"Okay. See you then," the phone clicked silent.

Robin sighed, reading wasn't the half of all the things he had to do. And he was more than starving by now.

[Turtle Dove Turnabout ~ Trial Day 1-End]


	6. The Turtledove Turnabout: Invest Day 2

[October 9th, 9:23 am, Detention Center]

Robin took a deep breath as he walked past by the guards. The air held a small chill and the clouds above him were steel gray and indigo: not a great sign. He continued in and checked with the receptionist, then walked over to the booth and grabbed a stool and pushed the button for the intercom, staring through the plexiglass. Heather Luxberg's icy blue eyes were searing a hole into him as they stared back. "Heather," he began.

"Here to gloat?" she scoffed, "Ya got me. I'm going to be fired for inappropriate workplace conduct, if not for the felony charge, and you dragged me outta the closet. Hope you're real friggin' pleased with yourself."

The attorney sighed, "I know it's not what you want to hear, but none of that was my goal, really, Heather."

"Stick to Ms. Luxberg," she bit, "only friends call me Heather."

"Ms. Luxberg," he relented, "I just want to find out exactly what was going on in that office. You have to admit those records prove something odd is going on, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have concealed them."

"No," she scowled, "Lyn killed Nephenee, Lyn deserves to rot in prison, end of story."

"Don't be like that," he begged, "I want to figure out what's going on here. Wouldn't it kill you to find out someone else had been behind Nephenee's death all along and you'd ruined an innocent girl's life?"

"It would," she folded her arms, "which is why I'm glad I know it's not the case."

"What about the bruises on Nephenee's back, Ms. Luxberg?" Robin tried a new tactic, "How do you account for those?"

The blonde glared, "The bitch that killed her did it. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Even on her tailbone?" the attorney fought.

"You're wasting your time," Heather shook her head, "No matter what you tell me, you're not going to get me to change my mind or speak up about anything. I don't give a rat's ass about your case."

"That's regrettable," Robin jumped as he suddenly heard a voice from behind him. Eliwood was looking over the attorney's shoulder at his supervisor, "I know you're upset with Mr. LeBlanc, but he really is just trying to get to the bottom of this."

"How would you know, Fremont?" she jeered.

"I have a strong inclination," said the redhead, "My intuition about people is never wrong. That's why I knew I could trust you as my boss, even with those strange NDAs."

"Hey!" she shouted, "Keep your mouth shut, there's a clause for mentioning that stuff, too!"

"What?" Robin piped up, "NDAs? You mean like Non-Disclosure Agreements?"

Heather scowled at Eliwood, "Agh, screw it, I'm already in here. Yeah, all employees have to sign contracts containing a few NDAs, basically saying they won't reveal company secrets or how we operate."

"Seems a little odd for an insurance company. Wouldn't that mostly be protected by law?" Robin added.

The blonde shrugged, "I don't claim to know everything, because other employees are forbidden from talking about their agreements, too. Lots of the higher-ups barely even communicate with the lower offices, and there's almost no communication between departments."

"You don't say," the attorney muttered, the gears in his head turning, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg, you may have given me some ideas."

"Bite me," she growled.

"And thank you, Eliwood," he turned, "Did you have a reason for coming down here?"

"I wanted to visit Ms. Luxberg," said the redhead, "and I thought you might be here. I want to continue helping with the case however I can."

"Well, you've been a big help already," Robin conceded, "I have to look around the Heron Corp. building again, maybe you'd care to come along?"

Eliwood smiled, "I'd be happy to."

Robin picked up his things and said his goodbyes to Heather, although his gratitude was rebuked once more. He left the building shrugging.

[October 9th, 10:51 am, Heron Corp.]

Robin felt a few drops of rain hit his hair and rubbed the spot to ensure that it was indeed rain. Hearing a pattering sound rise from the streets behind him, he picked up his pace and entered the building. Police officers were bustling in and out, carrying items and notepads all around and talking loudly to each other.

Colm Fletcher was in the middle of the floor shouting at a trio of policemen as another officer approached him and dropped a camel duffel bag dampened by moisture at his feet before scurrying away. "It looks like Prosecutor Reed is a bit angry with the police investigation," Robin noted.

"Or afraid of you," Eliwood chuckled.

"I wish," Robin nodded before signaling the detective, "Detective Fletcher, how goes the investigation?"

"Oh, it's a real joy," the indigo-haired detective scowled, "Nothin' but rainbows and butterflies here."

"I sense you're being verbally ironic, detective," Eliwood noted.

"Get a load of the genius," Colm rolled his eyes, "Whaddya want?"

"Has any new evidence turned up?" Robin wondered.

"You think I'd be standing here with my thumb up my ass if it had?" the detective growled, "We've been workin' since 5 am to find more evidence and we ain't found a thing!"

"What's that?" Robin pointed at the duffel bag at the detective's feet.

"Huh?" he looked down, "Ah, I guess Peters picked it up... It's wet as all hell, but... Maybe we finally made a breakthrough here after all." The detective pulled at a zipper on the bag and grunted, tugging a few more times before shouting, "What the hell? What's this crap stuck on?"

"I believe there's a lock on the bag, detective," Eliwood noticed.

Colm looked at the bag and put his hands around a copper-colored tiny combination lock that looped through the zipper and connected to a strap on the outside of the bag: it would be impossible to open in this condition. The detective deflated, "Ain't that just my rotten luck?"

"Whose bag is it?" Robin wondered.

"Wish I knew," Detective Fletcher answered, "Well, it's small, maybe we can get some equipment to break it..."

"Wouldn't that be quasi-illegal, since you don't know whose it is?" the attorney suggested.

"Sue me," Colm muttered. He continued to fidget with the bag, seeing if there was some way he could circumvent the lock.

"Well," Robin sighed, "this is a bust. I thought for certain we'd get a little more information for the trial if we checked out the scene again."

"Maybe we'd profit from another glance at the actual room where Ms. Monell was, er... where the crime occurred?" his companion offered.

"Good thought," the attorney agreed, "Detective, do you mind if we look over the scene of the crime one more time?"

"Do whatever blows your skirt up, kid," the detective responded without looking, "just don't touch anything there or I'll have your ass." Robin agreed and moved to the elevator.

[October 9th, 11:12 am, Heron Corp. Sales Office]

Robin walked into the room and frowned straight away. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing had changed. There were numbers placed near all of the major pieces of evidence now, but nothing else had moved. There were no obvious flaws, like he'd been hoping, only the same confusing scene he'd seen before with no additional answers. As he thought it over, however, one thing was different: the room was not as cold as the first time he'd entered it.

"The window's closed again," Eliwood arrived at the same conclusion, walking over to the window and inspecting it, "One of the officers must have gotten too cold. Or maybe they were afraid someone would drop in and steal evidence. It seems to have been locked."

Robin nodded, that was the most logical explanation. Unfortunately, it did nothing for his case. With no other options, the attorney began, "So, is this more or less how you remember the scene when you saw it last night?"

The redhead examined the room broadly again, making sure of his answer, "Yes, it doesn't seem as if anyone's even been in here since I ran out."

 _I guess that's a pretty glowing commendation for the police's caution with this investigation_ , thought Robin. The attorney shrugged, "Well, not much help here, either, then."

Eliwood was cut off before he could reply: "Oh, do unhand me! I'm only looking to use the facilities!"

The pair spun around to find a police officer dragging away a corpulent, pale, balding man with a big orange broom under his nose and small, tight eyes. He wore a mustard or lime-colored suit with a purple tie that clashed with it in fantastic fashion. The man eyed them both as they looked on. Robin took the initiative and stepped forward, "Pardon me, officer, but my name is Robin LeBlanc, I'm on the defense. Can you tell me who this man is and what you're doing with him?"

"I'm keeping watch over him," the cop replied, "Usually, we'd just arrest folks if we wanted to keep them in custody, but Mr. Pope here has special permission—"

"That's quite enough," the man silenced him, "I am Mr. Oliver Pope, the CEO of Heron Corporation."

Robin and Eliwood exchanged glances. The attorney looked at the police officer, "Is Mr. Pope under suspicion of something?"

The officer opened his mouth to answer, but Oliver spoke up, "I can answer for myself, thank you. And I also have the right to refuse to answer. Who are you, so disrespectful as to think you have the right to ask me such prying questions?"

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Didn't you hear me introduce myself?"

Oliver was looking at his fingernails, "I do apologize, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so terribly dull and insignificant, unlike the unspoiled beauty of my chords."

The attorney blinked a few times, "Um... I'm Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law. I'm Ms. Lorca's defense."

"Yes, yes, nice to meet you," Oliver nodded quickly, "Did you need something?"

"I wanted to know if you were around on the night of the crime," Robin said.

"Ah, you must be collecting evidence for the defense," Oliver decided.

"Uh, yes, I just said that."

"Oh? Forgive me, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so—"

"You just said that, too."

"Don't interrupt me!"

Robin grimaced and looked to his companion, "Is he normally like this?"

"How would I know?" Eliwood shrugged.

"He's your CEO."

"This is the first time I've seen him in person."

Oliver cleared his throat loudly, "What are we whispering about back there? Do you have need of me or not?"

"Mr. Pope, do you recall anything about the murder that occurred here last night?" Robin asked.

"Only that it was a very regrettable affair," the man hung his round head, "I can't stand the thought of people associating my lovely little company with something so foul."

 _"Little" this place is not_. "What about the young woman who lost her life here, Mr. Pope?"

"Ah, yes, a shame," he waved his hand, "Good woman and all that, sad to see her go."

"Clearly."

"Was there anything else you needed, Mister... Oblong?"

"LeBlanc, please. Is there some kind of archival system for email correspondence between employees?"

"That's a rather specific request," the CEO of Heron Corp. chortled, "There's a record kept of most communication of that nature, yes, why?"

"According to some witness testimony, Misses Monell and Lorca were exchanging several emails leading up to the murder. I'd like to look at them."

"Ah. Well, too bad."

"...Excuse me?"

"You'd need company approval to look at those records, and I'm not disclosing them at this time."

"But... but this is a homicide investigation!"

"Indeed. But I have a business to run, a business with big trade secrets that I can't go sharing with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. Now, if there's nothing further...?"

"You won't disclose those records even if they might save another girl's life?"

"The fate of others is none of my business, Mr. Attorney. Now, Officer Jenkins, as you were."

"Yes, sir," the policeman began to take the old man away again.

"What a bizarre fellow," Eliwood remarked simply.

"I can't believe he won't give out those records," Robin shook his head, "Maybe I can make Detective Fletcher apply some pressure."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" Eliwood pulled him away from his thoughts, "Oughtn't we inspect Ms. Monell's ID?"

"Oh, right," Robin concurred, "The other set of records that we didn't get to see. Yes, take a look."

Eliwood did as he was told and knelt down near the body, keeping several feet away all the same. He looked down at the cadaver's waist and saw the laminated plastic hanging from a clip on her skirt. The card showed a girl with a warm smile and listed the data 'Monell, Nephenee B., ID: 30067182, Sales Division' in a tidy black font. "Well, it's still on her person," Eliwood announced.

Robin cupped his chin, "Hm. Then that means it either never moved or was replaced. Maybe the detective would be willing to try taking some fingerprints... Can you see Lyn's anywhere?"

"Ah, good thinking!" Eliwood smiled. He gazed about the floor a few minutes more before sighing, "Er, sorry, Mr. LeBlanc, it doesn't seem to be here."

"That's all right," Robin folded his arms, "she probably still has it with her."

"What now?" Eliwood wondered, getting up from the floor.

"Let's chat with Detective Fletcher again and see if he's calmed down."

[October 9th, 11:49 am, Heron Corp.]

"Detective," Robin called as the pair advanced toward him once again.

"What?" he turned around, "Oh, it's you. Find something interesting?"

"Sort of," the attorney folded his arms, "Who's Oliver Pope and why haven't I heard of him before now?"

Colm rolled his eyes, "That guy. Oliver Pope is Heron Corp's CEO and so nutty I hear he goes well with ice cream."

"I gleaned that much," Robin nodded, "he had a cop escorting him who mentioned something about 'special permission.' What's that all about?"

Colm frowned, "Sorry, that's classified by the higher-ups. Can't talk about it."

"But you did arrest him, didn't you?"

"Not technically," the detective answered after a pause.

"Oh, for—What does it take to get a straight answer around here?" Robin sighed.

"Look, I'm tryin' my best to give you a hand, kid," Colm produced a cigarette and lit it, "but I'm not gonna risk my job for ya. I swear I'm working with you as much as I can."

"How about this," Robin offered, "have you had anyone dust for prints on Nephenee's ID card?"

"Oh, right," the detective took a drag on his cigarette, "'Cause we finally got the records from that bimbo yesterday..."

"Excuse me," Eliwood frowned, "that, er, 'bimbo' is my boss, and she's really a lovely woman, if a tad... aloof. She's very upset by the loss of Nephenee, that's all."

Colm blew smoke in his face, "Yeah, I guess. It's tough losing someone so close. Doesn't justify holding out on me, though. Not in my book."

"So, do you have prints or not?" the attorney demanded.

"I got a guy comin' in later this afternoon," the detective explained, flouting his cigarette, "be patient. I'll send you a copy of the results when I get 'em."

"Thanks, detective," Robin breathed, "Are you sure there's nothing else you can tell me about Oliver Pope?"

Colm thought about it as smoke wafted up to the ceiling, then added, "I guess advice is free, so here's mine: steer clear of that creep."

"Why? Is he dangerous?"

"Just don't get into it with him, he lives for ruining guys like you and me. Don't make any fuss and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble."

"No promises."

"Your funeral."

"Have you gotten anywhere as far as that bag, detective?" Robin inquired.

A scowl returned to Colm's face, "We tried, but that thing is made outta some real tough stuff. The strap and the zipper are, too: we can't put a dent in anything."

"It must be protecting something pretty valuable, then," the attorney concluded.

"I like to think so," the blue-haired man agreed, "but it doesn't really get us very far. We can only speculate right now."

"Right," the attorney sighed, "what to do..."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the doors, Prosecutor Reed is entering," a voice declared. All the bustling policemen and women on the floor paused in their work to turn and face the prosecutor as he strolled in, hands jammed into his pockets. The blond frowned at Detective Fletcher and at the attorney standing beside him, and sidled up next to them.

"Having a little powwow, lads?" he glared at them accusatorially.

"I was just going over the case and the investigation's progression with Detective Fletcher," Robin declared, trying to mirror the glare.

"Detective," Lloyd Reed's voice sharpened, "I trust you haven't given anything of value away...?"

"N-Never, sir," Colm grit his teeth.

"I'm sure," Lloyd breathed, "leave us."

"Sir," Colm saluted and wandered away.

"All right," Lloyd stood tall and cracked his neck, "what's your gimmick?"

"My 'gimmick?'"

"Yeah, what is it you want? Money? Renown? A position? Let's start the bargaining quickly."

"I... don't want any of that," Robin shook his head, "I want to prove Lyn is not guilty."

"Right," Lloyd rolled his eyes, "look, you don't have to play coy, I'm not wearing a wire. I control the police, not the other way around."

"What makes you think I'll take a bribe?" Robin scoffed.

Lloyd Reed laughed, "You say that like you have a choice. The conviction in your voice is very convincing, truly."

"I really don't know what you're getting at," the attorney shrugged.

"Don't be stupid," Lloyd growled, "you know as well as I do who that girl you're defending is. That's why you told her brother to stay away. You know exactly what you're doing, so I'm counteracting it now. I'm giving you a way out: tell me how much Don Tolstoy is paying you, and I'll double it."

"I don't want your money," Robin refuted.

"Then what?" Lloyd scrutinized the attorney's face, "Don't tell me you're sweet on the little tart."

"No, nothing like that!" Robin rebutted, blood running to his cheeks, "I'm not going to be bribed or coerced, I'm sticking with this defense."

Llpyd Reed clicked his teeth, "Sorry you feel that way. If you don't mind, then, why don't you vacate my crime scene?"

"Yours?" the attorney cocked an eyebrow, "I have as much right to be here as you."

"Gods, I hate the ones who don't know the rules," Lloyd told the ceiling, "I've tried to be civil, but if you stand around here any longer, you're going to start pissing me off. Get moving."

"Make me."

The prosecutor snapped his fingers and a row of police officers assembled at his back, staring at the young attorney, "Back away slowly. You're trifling with powers you don't comprehend."

"It may be best to cut our losses, whatever Mr. Reed is getting at, Mr. LeBlanc," Eliwood suggested, "He seems quite serious."

"But I'm not—"

"I'm certain you're not what he's accusing you of being, Mr. LeBlanc, but pride cometh before the fall, as they say."

Robin bowed his head before muttering, "This isn't over."

Lloyd Reed shook his head dismissively, "With your type, it never is. Good day, Mr. LeBlanc."

As the pair left the building, Robin felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone, "Robin LeBlanc, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Robin, check the caller ID," Anna chided him.

"All right, you got me," he laughed, "What's the story?"

"Just checking in," she answered, "I haven't heard from you since yesterday."

"Did you get in the office all right?"

"Yep, no problems. How goes the investigation?"

"Not great. We keep hitting walls."

"Who's 'we?'"

Robin glanced at the redhead beside him, "Oh, a co-worker of Lyn's, Eliwood Fremont, is with me." Robin covered the phone's speaker and addressed Eliwood, "My secretary, Anna." He nodded.

"Is that right? Is he the red-haired one?"

"Yes—er, how do you know about that?"

"I watched some of the trial on the news this morning. Mr. Fremont and his buddy are some good-looking fellas."

"I hope you didn't drool on my carpet."

"Someone's jealous. It's okay, you're right to be envious of Scarlet Heart and Big Blue there."

"Please tell me you're not actually calling them that."

"All I'm saying is I'll buy whatever they're selling, if you get my meaning."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"How about a 'Hey, thanks for checking to see if I'm alive, Anna?'"

"Somehow, I get the feeling I'll still be hearing your voice even when I'm dead and buried."

"I'm going to pretend that was a profession of kindness and friendship. Now, let me give you a couple'a hot tips!"

"...I think I misheard you."

"Tips! I've got a pair of sweet tips for you!"

"...Maybe... there's some kind of interference on my end..."

"I'm giving you information!"

"Oh. Well, do go on."

"What'd ya think I said?"

"Not important, what's the word?"

"Well, one is that somebody called on Heather Luxberg's behalf saying she wants to speak to you, and the other is something you didn't hear at the trial: apparently, Heron Corp's CEO was in the building that night."

"What?! He was in the building the night of the crime?!"

"That's what they're claiming on the news. You'll have to find proof of it, though."

"Thanks, Anna, that's amazing. I'll drop by and talk to Heather and then I'll be back a little later, okay?"

"Give Ms. Luxberg my regards, huh?"

"Do you know her?"

"No, but I'd like to."

"Wha... Are you drooling over her, too?!"

"Hey, Goldilocks's porridge looks just right is all I'm saying."

"This conversation is over," Robin pressed the button on his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Eliwood was staring at him. "Long story," the attorney explained, leading the way back to his car.

[October 9th, 1:03 pm, Detention Center]

Any urge Robin had to remark about Heather's earlier reticence had disappeared when he looked at her. Her face was red and her eyes were hidden, partially by puffy cheeks, and partially by her long, curly blonde hair. She was staring at the floor even as the pair sat down. "Ms. Luxberg?" Robin began, "We heard that you wanted to talk to us."

"Yes," she said soberly, "I realize I've been acting foolishly. I wanted so badly to find the guilty party, I was willing to believe it was anyone. When they said Lyn, I made the connections in my head and rationalized it so it would fit, but I know it's not the truth. And the truth is what I want, so the truth is what I'm going to give you."

"Forgive me," Robin said as softly as he could, "but I'm not sure I understand."

"Take this," she handed him a manilla envelope, "No one can know I gave it to you until the time is right, understand?"

The attorney opened the envelope and took a look inside. Bunches of paper displayed tons of information, but in particular the name Oliver Pope was listed with a large number of other company names, suggesting some kind of connection, as well as a long list of people's names that didn't seem at all familiar to Robin. He noticed a few police codes connected to Pope as well. The ones he could recall were for sexual assault and lewd conduct, and one was for obstruction of justice. "I think, but... I'm not sure... how can I prove this was connected to the murder?"

"You're a smart guy," the ghost of a smirk appeared on her face, "You'll figure it out. You have to, or you're sunk."

"No pressure there," he sighed.

"I'll get you going on the right track," she breathed, "You know, our sales reps don't take calls, they make them."

"You mean Heron Corp. calls its clients, not the other way around?" Robin inferred.

"Right on the money," Heather nodded.

Robin thought on the idea a moment longer before getting a picture in his head, "Ah. I think I understand where you're going with that now."

"Nephenee was an amazing woman, Robin," Heather said, staring at the wall behind him, "Passionate and driven, but always cheerful and never overly serious. She was... I don't think I'll ever find anyone quite like her again."

"I understand, Ms. Luxberg," he lowered his eyes, "Or... maybe I don't, but I'm trying. I think I can."

"She never gave up on what she wanted, no one could scare her. And she was smart beyond her pay grade."

"I don't know what to say."

"Figure out the truth, then tell it to the court. Then you'll have said enough. There's a reason we were held back from disclosing so much."

Robin nodded, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg."

"Call me Heather," she insisted, "only people I hate call me 'Ms. Luxberg.'"

[Turtledove Turnabout ~ Investigation Day 2-End]


	7. The Turtledove Turnabout: Trial Day 2

[October 10th, 9:37 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

In as many times as he'd entered the courtroom, the place never seemed to get any warmer. Even on hot summer days, the soft whites and golds of the room paired with the myriad of reflective surfaces made it feel like sitting in an igloo. For that reason, concentrating was made quite difficult for the attorney as he examined his notes once more with heavy eyes. He added a few modifications to earlier notes with a bright red pen as he began to hear footsteps on the other side of the room. He caught a glimpse of Lloyd Reed's shoes marching into the prosecution lobby, as well as those of several police officers behind him. The sight of those shoes made Robin scowl and focus even more intensely on his review.

As he sat, half tempted to lean back and doze off, he realized Colm Fletcher was walking toward him, "Hey, hotshot, I got somethin' for ya, but I gotta make it quick."

"Shoot," Robin nodded.

"You remember that bag from yesterday?" The attorney nodded. A worried crease appeared on the detective's brow, "We finally busted the thing open, it was made of some really weird lining, but the inside had blood all over it, plus some clothes. We don't know whose blood yet, though."

"That's a big find, detective," the attorney's eyes widened.

Colm rolled his eyes, "No kiddin'. Don't go tellin' everybody straight out, though, okay? I have no idea if it's even related."

"Understood. Thanks, detective," Robin smiled. The detective hurried off, rejoining the march of police footsteps down the hall. Robin, meanwhile, focused intently on the possibilities presented by the new piece of evidence.

He focused so much, in fact, that he failed to notice the police car that pulled into the lot, and the passenger that was led out of it with her hands clasped behind her back. When she was within a few feet, Lyn whispered at him, "Mr. LeBlanc?"

Robin picked his head up and felt his cheeks flush, "Oh, sorry, uh, hello, Lyn."

"Hello," she giggled.

"How are you feeling? Are you doing okay?" he stood, straightening his hair.

"I'm fine, Mr. LeBlanc," the girl bowed her head, "especially since you're defending me. You did a spectacular job last time, I'm sure you can pull it off again."

"I'll certainly try my best," he returned. Lyn nodded and the guard behind her glanced at her and then the attorney before her, offering an inquisitive look. "Before you go, Lyn, I wanted to ask you a few things, just to keep the story straight," Robin added.

"By all means."

"You said Nephenee pushed you during your meeting?"

"Yes."

"From the front? She leaned forward and pushed you?"

"Yes."

"All right. And then you were knocked unconscious?"

"Yes, but I don't think Nephenee did that. Not directly, anyway. I only felt the hit after I pushed her back."

"Interesting... Have you met Heron Corp's CEO, Oliver Pope?"

"I'm afraid not. Entry-level employees don't really get to see the executives."

"I see. One last question: do you have your employee ID with you?"

"Oh! Yes," she gestured toward her front pocket only to remember her hands were still bound, "Uh, I can't quite..." Robin nodded and, blushing a bit, reached into the pocket and seized the card himself. Lyn chuckled, "I didn't even think about it until now, but as soon as you reminded me, I realized I still had it."

"Would you mind if I held onto it for just a little while?" he asked.

Lyn's eyebrows creased, "I'm not sure... it's my only one, and if something happens to it, I could get fired..."

"I'll take good care of it, Lyn," the attorney produced a plastic bag, "I promise. I'm just going to put it in here and hold onto it, maybe to use it as evidence if it comes to that. Trust me, you'll be glad I did."

"All right," her face explained she was not entirely convinced, "just please don't lose it."

"You have my word," he held up a hand. The emerald-haired girl nodded and let the police officer lead her toward a side door of the courtroom.

Robin considered taking a look at his notes once more, but no sooner had the conversation finished than the bailiff called to him: "Mr. LeBlanc? His Honor is just about ready, if you'd like to head in."

Robin nodded, thanked the bailiff, and walked in as the door was opened for him.

[October 10th, 10:01 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The judge cleared his throat, pounding his gavel once to garner the court's attention, "Ladies and gentlemen, this court will now reconvene for the trial of Ms. Lyndis Lorca. Are both counsels adequately prepared?"

"The prosecution stands ready, Your Honor," Lloyd Reed declared, stabbing his opposing counsel with a glare.

Robin placed a hand on his desk, "The defense... is also ready, Your Honor."

"Very good," the judge surmised, interlocking his fingers, "Now, as I recall, the last session ended when it was revealed that Ms. Heather Luxberg was concealing valuable records from the court."

"Correct, Your Honor," Robin pounced, "Heather—er, Ms. Luxberg had an inappropriate workplace relationship with the victim that would have gotten her fired if it were made public, and so she withheld the records because they showed the victim apparently getting up and leaving the room after the presumed time of her death."

"Ms. Luxberg has since been taken into custody," Lloyd added, "she was terminated immediately, according to her supervisor."

The judge shook his head, "How very regrettable. It is truly unfortunate how many lives I have seen fall apart within these very walls."

 _Yikes, that's a little heavy_ , Robin sighed.

"In any case," the judge resumed, "I made the request that both parties seek out additional evidence in order to provide explanations for the discrepancy that was discovered. Mr. Reed, as the prosecutor of this case, have you anything new to show the court?"

"Indeed," Lloyd nodded, "although it may be telling more than showing. The prosecution would like to offer the testimony of a yet-unheard witness: one Hector Sturakst."

The judge nodded, "Very good. Mr. Sturakst, if you are present, please approach the witness stand."

A bulky blue-haired figure stood up from the gallery and complied with the request. His shoulders eclipsed and engulfed the small podium as he stood before it. "Your name and occupation, please, sir," Lloyd Reed demanded.

"Hector Sturakst. I'm a sales rep, like Eliwood, Lyn, and Nephenee," he replied.

"Thank you," Lloyd nodded, "now, will you kindly tell the court what it is you witnessed?"

"Sure thing," he folded his arms. The blue-haired man was staring gravely at Robin. "I was at home on the night the murder occurred," Hector began, "nothing special, but I got a call from Eliwood well after normal hours. I thought that was weird, so I decided I should pick up. Later, I would learn that he made that call after he called the police. When Eliwood told me what he saw, I rushed right on down and found him on the floor where our office is located. When I looked inside, I saw the scene—it really was messed up, seeing Nephenee's body like that, and Lyn right beside her. Anyhow, I remember looking at both girls for a while, and I got this funny feeling, like somethin' wasn't quite right. Sure enough, when I got back home after the cops let us go the following morning, I realized what was wrong: Nephenee had been missing her ID tag."

"No further questions," Lloyd said curtly, his eyes shut.

"Very well," the judge nodded, "Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?"

 _Something's way off about this_ , Robin thought, _what Hector just said... that can't be right, there's a glaring flaw there, and Lloyd should know about it. Is he... trying to trap me somehow? I'm not sure. I do have to at least look into this, though_.

"Mr. Sturakst," Robin breathed, "may I extrapolate that the conclusion you anticipate to your observations is that Ms. Lorca stole the victim's ID?"

"That's right," he agreed.

"Then I have to tell you that that cannot be true," Robin rebutted.

"What?" Hector's brows knitted.

The attorney shook his head, "I followed up a secondary investigation yesterday as well, and I know for a fact that the victim's ID was still on her person at that time, meaning it couldn't have been stolen by the defendant."

The blue-haired man's face twisted, "No way, man, I know what I saw. I'm entirely certain Nephenee didn't have her ID on her when Eliwood and I showed up that night."

"Hector, listen to me," Robin insisted, "I'm telling you you must be making a mistake, because what you saw isn't possible."

"Let's not be so hasty," Lloyd interrupted him, "It is still very possible that Ms. Lorca obtained the ID, used it to open the doors and then returned everything, including herself to its proper place."

"And why would she do that?" Robin slapped his desk.

"Why, to create this exact conflict, of course," Lloyd tapped his forehead.

"What?!"

"Don't be dense, Mr. LeBlanc. If Ms. Lorca could make it seem like someone else had used Ms. Monell's ID whilst she lay 'unconscious' in the room it would create the perfect alibi for her, a sham of a story that it seems you've played right into."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Th-That's ridiculous? If Lyn stole the ID then surely the more logical move would be to flee the scene!"

"Run away from the crime with a crucial loose end either right in her pocket or out in the open for anyone to find?" Lloyd shook his head, "Your rookie status is showing, Mr. LeBlanc; that is hardly a logical move at all when she had the perfect opportunity to create this false 'third party' scenario."

"Absurd," the attorney refuted, "How can the prosecution hope to prove such an accusation?"

Lloyd Reed smiled broadly, "I was hoping you'd ask. The lab boys took a look at the ID by my request yesterday. Fingerprint testing revealed matches for the victim and the defendant only."

"No...!" Robin cursed, "That still doesn't prove what you're claiming. There are a dozen other times Lyn's fingerprints might have accidentally ended up on the victim's ID; they were co-workers, it could have happened any time!"

"Fortune does not favor you today, Mr. LeBlanc," Lloyd shook his head, "The ID cards contain very special mechanical components that allow their unique signatures to be identified, but these components are easily ruined by exposure to outside elements. As such, employees must have their cards scrubbed once every week to avoid damage. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?"

The judge answered for him, "You mean to say that since the tag was found after the victim's work day had ended, the prints on it could only have been made after working hours?"

The prosecutor smiled, "Just so. Therefore, Mr. LeBlanc, there is indisputable proof that it was Ms. Lorca who touched the victim's ID, resolving the conflict created by the record evidence!"

"Ack!" the attorney clutched his chest, feeling as though he'd just endured a rather powerful jab to it.

Lloyd Reed continued, "Yes, now you see. Without the convenient contradiction provided by that evidence, you are without recourse: all the evidence points directly to Lyndis Lorca."

"No..." the attorney felt sweat upon his brow. _That can't be right_ , he thought, _is there really nothing else? Can't anything explain this that doesn't condemn Lyn_?

The judge pounded his gavel, "I am inclined to agree with Mr. Reed's conclusion, Mr. LeBlanc. Unless you can provide some information to cast doubt on the prosecution's findings, I'm afraid there seems to be little reason to further prolong this trial."

"W-Wait, Your Honor!" Robin begged, "This still doesn't make any sense! Why didn't Eliwood mention this in his testimony?"

"He simply failed to notice it," Lloyd shrugged, "anything else?"

Robin looked to the left and right, "Uh, when did Mr. Fremont call you, Mr. Sturakst?"

"After he called the police, I said that," Hector responded.

"But can you tell me the exact time?" Robin hoped.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "What possible relevance could that information have?"

"Your Honor," the attorney was sweating bullets, "I beg you, just allow me a moment and I'll make everything clear."

The judge eyed him suspiciously, "I am very seriously doubting much of what you have said thus far, Mr. LeBlanc. I will allow you this one last chance, but if this inquiry does not introduce new information, I will end the trial immediately, am I understood?"

Robin swallowed feeling his vision fade, "Y-Yes, Your Honor."

"Very well. Mr. Sturakst, please answer the question," the judge requested.

"Uh, lessee..." he looked at his phone, "says here... 11:21 pm."

"11:21?!" Robin repeated, clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, why?"

"You said Eliwood called you after he called the police!" Robin insisted.

"Yeah?"

"And you said you 'rushed straight there!' But you told me you didn't get there until after midnight!"

"W-Well, maybe I didn't 'rush' per se, but traffic was pretty crappy..."

"Mr. LeBlanc!" Lloyd cut him off, "Are you accusing Mr. Fremont or Mr. Sturakst of something?"

"N-No..." Robin shrank, "but... this doesn't add up. Why would Eliwood wait so long to call Hector and tell him about this?"

The prosecutor shrugged, "He didn't think about it until later, it was that simple."

"I refuse to accept that!" Robin argued, "We need to ask Mr. Fremont ourselves."

"Nonsense!" Lloyd shouted, "This charade of yours has gone on long enough! Your Honor, I demand you put an end to this circus of a trial!"

"I'm afraid I find your findings suspect at best, Mr. LeBlanc," the judge shook his head, "As such, I am left with no choice. I hereby—"

"Hold it!" a voice muted the courtroom. Eliwood stood in the doorway, "I heard that Hector was testifying today, and I wondered why he didn't tell me. If Mr. LeBlanc says something's amiss, I'm prepared to answer whatever questions have arisen."

"There's no point!" Lloyd argued, "We've tread and retread this ground, there's nothing new to find here!"

"Eliwood, why did you wait so long to call Hector?"

"Mr. LeBlanc—"

"What do you mean? I called as soon as I finished calling the police."

"And when was that?"

"Um... I'm not sure... if I check my phone, it says... 8:47 pm."

Gasps and murmurs filled the courtroom.

"Ridiculous!" Lloyd shouted, "Hector Sturakst didn't receive that call until 11:21 pm! Mr. Fremont is lying!"

"I have the record right here," Eliwood lifted up his phone. The redhead walked forward a few steps and showed it to the judge who confirmed the time.

"But then why did Hector not get the call at that time?!" Lloyd growled.

"Exactly what I want to know," Robin slammed his fists on his desk, "Did you talk to Mr. Fremont during that call, Mr. Sturakst?"

"Uh, no, I just kinda listened to what he said and jumped in my car."

"Eliwood!" Robin pressed, "Did you hear Hector when you called him?"

"Now that I think about it... I'm not sure..."

"What about the police? What did they say when you called?"

"No one actually said anything when I was describing the scene. Once I finished, somebody told me a dispatch had already been sent to my location."

"W-What?!" Colm Fletcher stood up, "That can't be right! That's an automated message we use when we receive multiple calls from the same approximate area!"

"Th-That means..." the prosecutor's voice shuddered.

"Someone else already called the police before Eliwood!" Robin finished his thought. More mutters of surprise emanated from the gallery. "Somehow, Eliwood's phone was creating all sorts of impossibilities that night: he was the first one on the scene, but not the first to call the police, and he called Hector more than two hours later than his phone indicates!"

"But how...?!" Lloyd slammed a fist on his desk.

"Now, remind me, where did the police dispatch register the call as having come from?" Robin pressed.

"The CEO's office," Detective Fletcher answered, "Son of a bitch..."

"Then that's it!" Robin slapped his desk once more, "There was someone else at the scene of the crime around the time of the murder: someone in the CEO's office!"

"Don't you _dare_...!" Lloyd growled.

The attorney tapped his forehead, "And at such a late hour, who else would have been there but the CEO himself?"

The judge pounded his gavel several times as the chatter in the court was steadily rising, "Order! Order, I say! Mr. LeBlanc, are you suggesting what I believe you're suggesting?"

"Given that I have no other choice," Robin nodded, "I am, Your Honor. The defense would like to formally indict the CEO of Heron Corporation, Oliver Pope, in the murder of Nephenee Monell!"

"You imbecile!" Lloyd roared.

"Order! ORDER!" the judge pounded his gavel a few more times, "Unless you have significant evidence to counter this claim, I'm afraid I see little choice, Mr. Reed."

"I...! That's not...! Of course there's...!"

"Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Reed," at once, heads whipped around to the back of the courtroom once again, this time finding a squat, corpulent man before them. Oliver Pope addressed the crowd, "I was coming here to see what, exactly, had become of my employee so that I could see where our training went wrong and remediate it, but I come all this way only to hear baseless accusations and hotheaded lawyers running their mouths... Hah! How inconceivably gauche!"

"And you are?" the judge blinked.

The man pulled up the lapels of his mustard suit, "I am Oliver Pope, CEO of Heron Corporation and the defense's latest patsy, it would seem."

"Do you deny calling the police?" Robin leered at him.

He shook his head, "Not at all. But I would prefer to make formal answers to these questions so that needless repetition may be avoided."

"Are you saying you want to testify?" Lloyd stared at the squat man.

"Of course," he smiled.

The judge blinked a few more times, then nodded, "Uh... very well... this is highly unorthodox, however, I suppose, given the circumstances, your arrival is, in point of fact, a great convenience to this court. We will thus take a fifteen minute recess to prepare you for your testimony and to swear you in, Mr. Pope—"

"Pish-posh," the balding man scoffed, "We'll do it right now. I have a very lovely lunch waiting for me in the near future, so I'd like to stamp out this little attorney's complaints straight away."

The judge cocked an eyebrow, "Er, but Mr. Pope, I cannot allow—"

"Balderdash! Poppycock! Horsetails! If the prosecutor has no objections to my testimony, then I am able to begin immediately, isn't that right?"

"Well, technically—"

"And the prosecutor has no objections, do you, Mr. Reed?"

"...No."

"Then there you have it. Let's get this testimony over with."

 _This guy doesn't mess around_ , Robin sighed to himself, _What's his game? He's putting himself at greater risk by testifying, isn't he_?

"Uh, right..." Lloyd grimaced as the CEO took his place at the witness stand, "Will the witness state his name and occupation?"

"Oliver Pope," he smiled with a gleam in his eyes, "the CEO of Heron Corporation, the greatest multinational insurance conglomerate in the world!"

"Quite," Lloyd folded his arms, "Would you care to tell us your version of events, Mr. Pope?"

"I certainly would," he chuckled and his stomach shook, "I was in my office that fateful night, counting up revenue, managing supervisors' shifts, examining stocks, a whole host of managerial endeavors—alas, the life of a successful entrepreneur! I was nearly finished with my duties that evening when I heard an awful sound from a few levels below. I must admit, because I am not a man of great stature, I dreaded seeking out the noise for fear of an assault on my person. All the same, I braved the dangers and took the elevator down to the eleventh floor, and when the doors opened, I was quickly treated to a view of the horrific murder! I was so frightened I scrambled back to the elevator and returned to my office, hoping I might elude the murderer, were he or she still around. I called the police as soon as I returned to my office, just before 8:30."

Lloyd nodded, "So you see, Mr. LeBlanc, a solid alibi; Mr. Pope had nothing to do with the murders."

"I'm ready for my cross-examination, Your Honor," Robin glared at the balding man before him.

"Er, yes," the judge stammered, "do go on."

"Can anyone beyond yourself account for your whereabouts, Mr. Pope?"

"Unfortunately, no man or woman can, however, I, like all of my employees, carry an ID card. It is the only card which can grant access to my office, and the records for that night indicate their use specifically at the times I described."

"Those times aren't on the records I possess."

"You have a limited copy of the records. Executive copies are withheld for client and business security reasons, but I can make an exception for such an extenuating circumstance."

"How can we trust that this record isn't doctored in some way?"

"You can ask our Technical Services and Security Engineer, Mr. Soren Nuache, for a copy directly from the company's source information, if it pleases you."

"Detective Fletcher?"

"On it."

"You saw into the room after Nephenee was murdered?"

"Indeed."

"So the door must have been open."

"Yes."

"How do we know it wasn't you who killed Nephenee and rendered Lyn unconscious?"

"Do you have any evidence that suggests that? Fingerprints? Blood? DNA? No, the physical evidence all points to Ms. Lorca, as I understand."

"But you could have changed any number of things—"

"Objection!" Lloyd called, "It's a moot point, Mr. LeBlanc. If you have no evidence implicating Mr. Pope, then suspicion cannot be shifted."

"You say you fled to your office, why?"

"Don't be daft, boy, it was because I saw the victim dead!"

"How could you tell she was dead?"

"I saw two bodies on the floor and a smear of blood on the wall. I put two and two together."

"You didn't think to ask if either of them were okay?"

"Objection," Lloyd declared again, "The quality of Mr. Pope's decisions is irrelevant."

"If you saw all this before Eliwood, why didn't you come forward?"

"I was quite busy, and I heard his story. It doesn't differ at all from mine. I've stayed away from this trial altogether as a result; I haven't looked into anything until the matter is sorted legally."

"How did you know to go to the eleventh floor?"

"I took what might be called an 'educated guess.' The sound came from several floors below, so I went down to whereabouts I assumed it had come from. If I hadn't found anything, I would have checked the floors above and below that one, too."

"Hey," heads in the court turned as a panting Detective Fletcher reentered the courtroom, "I checked with that Nuache guy, the record's legit." After finishing his explanation, the detective handed the report back to Robin, who scanned it carefully.

"This says you left your office at 8:11 pm. That's seven minutes after Lyn entered the office and eleven minutes before someone used Nephenee's ID on the door again."

"Just so."

"But Lyn wasn't moving at all when you got down there, was she?"

"Not per my recollection."

 _Dammit_ , Robin's face fell, _I've got nothing. He has an answer for everything I can ask. He's perfectly prepared for all my questions, almost like he's been preparing for this... There's no question, then, it has to be him. But how can I possibly prove it? I have no evidence whatsoever_!

But a moment's thought seized Robin immediately and made his eyes grow wide. He was taken back to his conversation with Heather briefly and felt the gears begin to turn in his head. His lips quivering and voice shaky, the attorney asked, "Mr. Pope... do you have any idea why Ms. Lorca would kill Ms. Monell?"

"If I recall correctly, it had something to do with harassment of some kind. Ms. Monell had been denied a promotion and blamed Ms. Lorca, Ms. Lorca contacted Human Resources... a right mess, really," Oliver answered, stroking his chin.

"Mr. Pope," a smile began to grow on Robin's face, "How, exactly do you know that?"

"W-What is that supposed to mean?" the large man sputtered.

"Prior to this trial, only one person knew about the conflict between Ms. Monell and Ms. Lorca in so much detail," Robin noted, "That was the victim's lover, Ms. Luxberg."

"W-Well, I saw some of the trial..."

Robin wagged his finger, "Wait a moment. That directly contradicts something you said earlier. You claimed you didn't follow or involve yourself in any part of this trial."

"I— what? Y-You...!" Oliver's face twisted and he glared at the attorney, grinding his teeth, "H-Hey, prosecutor! Say something!"

"Mr. Pope must have made his statement in error, or phrased it poorly," Lloyd coughed, "I believe he meant that he, personally, did not wish to enter into the trial period, but this information was available on the news, it's been circulating all around."

"Objection!" Robin projected, "As a friend of someone who watches the news religiously, I can tell you that no such information has been made public. Names and faces have been shown, but under Ylissean law, sensitive trial information records can't be released until after a verdict has been handed down. Mr. Pope, there's no way you should know what you know."

"Fine," the man grumbled, "when I heard about the trial, I looked into their company emails to see if I could find anything, are you satisfied now?"

"You can do that?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"Of course I can!" Oliver sighed, "I'm the CEO, I have access to everyone's business-related data, including work emails."

"See?" Lloyd shook his head, "that wasn't so hard. Even Mr. Pope's shoulders are surely feeling a bit lighter now, and your confusion has evaporated. May we end this frankly exhausting affair yet?"

Robin shook his head, too, "Mr. Pope, does this access include usernames for emails?"

"Of course."

"And the contents of those emails?"

"Naturally."

"And the histories of sent and received messages?"

"Yes, what do you—"

"And the passwords of those email accounts?"

"Yes, yes, yes, what in the world are you getting at, boy?" the CEO huffed.

"You do have access to the passwords?" Robin slapped his hands on his desk, "Then isn't it possible that you, yourself, could log into any of those emails and thereby pose as any of your own employees?"

"Wh-What?!" Oliver jumped.

"Just what I said," the attorney smiled, "If you have passwords and usernames, you can access any of your employees' company emails and pretend to be one of them sending a message to the others."

Oliver's face resembled a tomato as he shouted, "Just what are you insinuating, you sniveling little—"

"I share Mr. Pope's outrage," Lloyd leered at him, "Even if he was able to do that sort of thing, and I'm not ready to concede that he can, he would have no reason to!"

"Exactly! Why would I want to impersonate the dull life of one of my inferiors?" the balding man exclaimed.

"What if you wanted to start a fight?" Robin grinned.

"Objection!" Lloyd yelled, "The defense is speculating. You have no evidence of what you're claiming."

"Don't I?" Robin folded his arms smugly.

"Not ostensibly, no," the judge decided.

"W-Well," the attorney deflated a bit, "what I mean is, I can provide evidence."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," the prosecutor's eyes were pure ice, "what will you show the court as evidence that Mr. Pope impersonated an employee's email to try to instigate a fight?"

Robin took a deep breath, _This all hinges on a guess, basically. I hope to Naga I'm on the right track, but if I'm going to fail, I might as well fail spectacularly_. "I can't provide the evidence, actually," the attorney said.

"Ha!" Lloyd scoffed, "I thought as much. Are we about finished here?"

"Someone else will have to provide it for me."

"What?!"

"Ms. Lyndis Lorca, would you mind logging into your email for me? You can use my phone, if you like," Robin handed her the phone as prosecutor and witness alike stared daggers into him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lloyd demanded, "This exercise is pointless, we—"

"Your Honor, I'm trying to make a point, if the prosecution would allow me a moment to actually do so," Robin rolled his eyes.

"Agreed, be patient, Mr. Reed," said the judge.

"And Mr. Pope," Robin continued, "while Lyn does that, would you mind using your access to log into Nephenee's account? Just remember, the bailiff will be watching you if you try anything... uncouth."

"You think you intimidate me, you urchin?" Oliver laughed, "Fine, I'll indulge you, just don't get uppity."

"All done," Lyn announced, singsong, "What did you want to see?"

"What is the address of the email that originally sent you the message about the promotion?"

"Nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz."

"Interesting. Mr. Pope, or bailiff, whichever of you prefers, what is the address for Nephenee Monell's email?"

The bailiff answered, "Says 'nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz.'"

"And," Robin glanced at the judge, "looking at the 'sent' folder for that email account, does an email featuring the subject line 'Your conduct' appear anywhere?"

"No, sir."

"How about in the deleted files, or any other folder?"

"We're turning up nothing."

"So the email that Nephenee apparently sent threatening Lyn doesn't exist anywhere on Ms. Monell's account."

"Objection!" Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "She might have erased it herself to cover her tracks! That doesn't prove that Mr. Pope arranged that—"

"Objection!" Robin responded, "I'm aware. Don't worry, Lloyd, we'll get there."

Lloyd growled and slammed his fist on his desk.

"Now," the attorney continued, "Lyn, the emails you responded to when Nephenee talked to you about the HR complaint, what was the address there?"

"Nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz."

"So, that conversation was with the same Nephenee, apparently, though the content of those emails doesn't seem to acknowledge the email accusing Lyn of stealing her promotion. Bailiff, since Mr. Pope's feeling shy, do you mind reading the address of the email that addresses Nephenee about a harassment complaint?"

"HRDept at Heron dot biz."

"Ms. Lorca," Robin took in another deep breath: this was the big one, "Is that the email address you were provided for your office's human resources department?"

"Yes."

"Now, Detective Fletcher?"

"What's up?" the detective looked up.

"Can you get Mr. Nuache back on the phone and ask if there's any record of a harassment complaint against Nephenee, or of an email sent from the HR department addressed to Nephenee with the subject 'Concerns of Harassment?'"

"Can do."

"And what could possibly be the point of all this, Mr. LeBlanc?" Lloyd demanded, rolling his eyes.

"If those two emails are faked, like I think they are, it will prove someone was deliberately trying to start a fight between Nephenee and Lyn," he surmised.

"And in what way does that implicate Mr. Pope?" Lloyd demanded, "You've been dancing around it long enough, let's have a real answer."

"You want to know, Mr. Reed?" Robin stood tall behind his desk.

"Desperately," the prosecutor replied, dripping with irony.

"This," Robin pulled the folder Heather had given him out from his briefcase, "is a police record, among other very interesting bits of data."

"Where did you get that?!" Oliver shouted.

"A lot of information appears on these pages, I mean a _lot_. There's counts of sexual assault and corruption of a minor, embezzlement, blackmailing, insurance fraud, extortion, well... it might be shorter to list what's _not_ on this rap sheet," Robin smiled.

"What... where are you going with this?" Lloyd swallowed.

"Do you know whose it is? I'll give you a hint, he's male, and he's in this room right now, very close to us," the attorney widened his eyes to increase the pressure.

"What?!" Lloyd stepped back, "You're not serious... you couldn't have...?!"

"That's right, ladies and gents," Robin faced the gallery, "please welcome career criminal and pervert Oliver Pope!"

"You scum-sucking lawyer dirtbag!" the balding man cried, "How dare you tarnish my good name like that?!"

"I know, and after you paid the police so much to bury it," the attorney replied with mock sympathy, "By the by, does anyone want to know where Mr. Pope got all that police bribe money?"

"I'll wring your scrawny neck, you—"

"Bailiff, restrain Mr. Pope," ordered the judge.

"Aside from all his own dirty deeds done for a little more than dirt-cheap, this folder contains a list of over a hundred people, all known to the police as participants and major players in human trafficking organizations!" Robin flourished.

"Wh-What?!" Lloyd's eyes bulged.

The attorney continued, "Now, I finally see the reason behind something that's been bothering me since I started this investigation: why are all of Heron Corp's sales reps so young?"

"What are you going on about?!" Oliver shouted.

"Lyn, tell me, what do you sell?" Robin asked politely.

"Uh, insurance policies," she answered, "sometimes we check with current policy holders, too, to see if they want to renew. Most of them do."

"Do your clients call you?" he continued.

"No, we're given a list at the beginning of the day and we call everyone on it and ask a set of questions," the emerald-haired girl provided.

"Did you ever ask why that was, Lyn?" the attorney cocked an eyebrow.

Lyn blushed, "N-No... I... I didn't want to lose the job, and the managers were very strict about not saying anything... I didn't mean any harm."

He nodded, "I know you didn't. Neither did Eliwood, Hector, or Nephenee, but they were all doing Oliver Pope's dirty work without realizing it, because you know what those 'insurance policies' really are?"

"I'm on the edge of my seat!" the judge declared with wide eyes.

Robin grinned and bowed his head, "That list of names... they're a fraction of the ones Heron Corp. has assigned to its sales reps. What these kids fresh out of college have really been selling are blackmail packets! Oliver Pope has used his money and connections in illicit communities to trap sex traffickers into endless loops of paying him blackmail money in a pyramid scheme so insane it would make the greediest stockbroker blush!"

"GAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Oliver Pope shouted, falling forward.

The court fell silent, soft and light, the slightest movement could be heard, but it wasn't because not a single man or woman even so much as shifted their feet. Everyone remained deathly quiet until the hissing of one man's breathing could be heard.

Lloyd Reed's eyes were burning, capillaries surging red along with the rest of the blood around his face filling into his cheeks, "Well, congratulations, Mr. LeBlanc. You proved that Oliver Pope is a sexual deviant, a corrupt money-grubber, and a manipulative bastard... but you know what you haven't proven? You haven't proven that he murdered Nephenee Monell, which is the entire point of this trial!"

A few murmurs spread throughout the court.

"I know that," Robin nodded, _Although, I was kinda hoping you'd all forget it..._ "You didn't think I was finished, did you? That was just the motive for Oliver Pope to have committed the murder."

"And in what way did that... tirade establish a motive?" asked the prosecutor.

"Who do you think dug up all this dirt?" Robin smiled.

"No..." Lloyd groaned.

"That's right, Nephenee Monell herself," Robin listened to some of those returning to the court, "Nephenee found out this information about Oliver Pope when she investigated some other departments in her workplace at the urging of a third party who will remain nameless for their safety."

"So then," Lloyd Reed folded his arms, "give us the other two components: means and opportunity. Prove how and when Oliver Pope could have committed this murder."

"Sure thing," the attorney accepted, "Let me break it down this way: Oliver Pope knows these two are going to have a meeting—"

"That's still not proven," Lloyd protested.

Detective Fletcher was twirling a cigarette between his fingers, "Hate to burst your bubble, blondie, but I just got off the phone with that Nuache fella. Apparently the metadata on that email from the HR department... the email itself was deleted, but it points to being sent from the IP address coming from Ylisstol, and the ISP says it suggests it came from Mr. Pope's desktop."

The judge cleared his throat, "Ah, beg your pardon, but I'm a bit less familiar with this lingo than you young folk. What are these 'eyepeas' and 'icepeas' you're talking about?"

Robin blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Truth be told, I don't understand it all myself, Your Honor, but, in brief, an 'IP' is a number that can be used to track the source location of a device accessing the internet. The internet service provider or 'ISP' can help narrow that number down to specific subscribers to their network."

"I see," the judge stroked his beard, "so this information creates a sort of digital trail that can lead back to a person who used the internet?"

"In the hands of the right people, that's it exactly, Your Honor," Robin nodded.

"Ha! Well, my grandchild will be so impressed with me when I tell him I know all about 'eyepeas' now!" he chuckled.

 _Marks for enthusiasm, Your Honor_ , the attorney sighed to himself, "So, as I was saying, Oliver Pope knows he's started a fight between these two employees. He's also able to read that they're going to meet up at a certain time on a certain day, so he stays in his office after hours that day."

Lloyd had his eyes shut, "This is still nothing more than conjecture."

"Oliver knows it's time to make a move, so he plans to hide in the room and lie in wait for the two women," the attorney progressed.

"Objection!" Lloyd called, "That's impossible. No one went into that office after work hours other than Ms. Lorca and Ms. Monell, no matter how much you wish that weren't the case. It's on the records in black and white, there's no denying it."

"Not quite," Robin shook his head, "we know that only people with Lyn and Nephenee's IDs entered that room."

"Which," Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, his voice becoming hoarse, "we already proved could only be Ms. Lorca and Ms. Monell."

"Objection!" Robin rejected, "You proved that only Lyn could have touched the victim's ID after it had been scrubbed for the week."

"Yes, so?"

"So... what about Lyn's ID?"

"You're not _seriously_ suggesting...?

"I am," the attorney nodded, "Ms. Lorca, would you remind the court of the testimony you gave yesterday? What happened when you met with Nephenee outside of your office?"

"Huh? Uh, I followed her in."

"Exactly, you _followed_ her in, meaning you didn't use your own ID."

"Ah...!"

"Now, Mr. Reed," Robin tapped his finger on his forehead, "would you remind the court who the first ID entered on the log around the time of the meeting was?"

Lloyd Reed grimaced, "It was... Ms. Lyndis Lorca." A wave of whispers shot through the gallery. "B-But," the prosecutor appended, "that doesn't mean that Oliver Pope used it!"

"What was it you told me?" Robin shook his head, "'Fortune doesn't smile upon you today.' Recall that the IDs of all employees were scrubbed the day of the meeting, as you posited for your suggestion about Lyn using Nephenee's ID."

"Wh-What of it?"

"I happen to have Lyn's ID here," Robin pulled out the plastic bag containing the card, "I touched it, so my fingerprints will be on it, but any other fingerprints on the ID must have been placed there that day, right?"

Lloyd growled but tacitly agreed. The judge spoke to Colm Fletcher and before long, they arranged for the item to be tested. "It's going to take a while, though," Colm advised, "so you might want to carry on."

"What more is there to say?" Robin shrugged, "If Mr. Pope touched the ID, he was able to be in the room and, thus, able to kill Nephenee and render Lyn unconscious, planting her fingerprints on the coffee mug and Nephenee's ID."

"But how do you suppose Mr. Pope might have killed Ms. Monell?" Lloyd wagged his finger, "I think you'll agree the man is pretty hard to miss, so why did Ms. Lorca not remember him at the scene?"

"I had a theory about that, too, actually," Robin nodded, "Lyn testified that she saw Nephenee lean forward and push her. Imagine if someone had been hiding behind the victim at that point: perhaps Nephenee herself was really being pushed from behind."

"Objection!" Lloyd protested, "Even if I believed her testimony, why would Ms. Lorca have lost consciousness, then? She said herself that Ms. Monell's push was not overwhelmingly strong."

"I can only imagine that, while Nephenee was indisposed, Mr. Pope moved quickly and rendered Lyn unconscious from behind," the attorney answered.

Lloyd glanced at the corpulent man before the stand, "That would be quite a feat."

"I admit it seems unlikely, but I think you'll find it's the only explanation."

"You'll recall, however, Mr. LeBlanc," the prosecutor folded his arms, "that Ms. Monell died from a contusion on the back of her head. Would you have the court assume that Mr. Pope simply beat her to death with his bare hands? That would be impossible: there would be far more damage from such a brutal assault, and DNA would likely have been extracted from Mr. Pope's hands or fingernails. We tested Mr. Pope and found no such evidence. Likewise, the victim's blood was not on any other item in the room, she could only have been murdered with the coffee mug, which had Lyn's fingerprints on it. There is no other conclusion."

"Not so fast, Mr. Reed," Robin corrected, "There was one other thing amiss with the office that hasn't gotten much play yet."

"What?!"

"Do you remember that window?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! It was already proven that that window couldn't have been used by any third party, it means nothing!"

"What you proved, Mr. Reed, is that no one could have _entered_ the building through that window."

"You're saying someone left? How? Why?!"

"You've been thinking inside the box for too long, Mr. Reed. I'll answer your question with another question: why didn't anyone find any trace of Nephenee's blood other than on the coffee mug and floor?"

"Because she was killed with the coffee mug, obviously!"

"No. Because the office wasn't where she was killed."

"What?! I've never heard such gibberish before!"

"Think about it: both Lyn and Eliwood were very clear that it was raining cats and dogs that night, so any blood outside would have been washed away in an instant!"

"So?! The other explanation is just as valid!"

"Objection! That's where you're wrong. Remember the bruises along Nephenee's back?"

"The detective told us they were likely the result of a shoving match with the defendant!"

"He did, but that was because he fell for Oliver Pope's ruse. Look at Ms. Lorca: do you really think a young woman of her stature could bruise a woman with a larger build simply by pushing her? And the bruises are large and all along Nephenee's back, too. In other words, not consistent in the least with a 'shoving match.' More likely, they were the result of a fall of... let's say 120 feet, perhaps?"

"What?! You're suggesting Oliver Pope threw Nephenee Monell out of a window?! That's how he killed her?!"

"Exactly."

"And why would he do something so needlessly complex?"

"To fool you into believing exactly what you've tried to prove. That's the same reason why he created the fake controversy between the defendant and the victim: he'd been plotting to kill Nephenee all along, and so he made his last work of forgery creating a patsy in the form of Lyn!"

"Preposterous! If you say that Ms. Monell was thrown out of a window and it was pouring rain, why wasn't she wet?!"

"What if Mr. Pope put her body in a receptacle to keep it dry and bring it back to the office?"

"Madness! Madness upon madness! Why would he do such a thing?!"

"Like I said, to frame Lyn."

"But surely it would have been easier to simply make it seem as though Ms. Lorca had pushed the victim out of the window...?"

"But then there would be no physical evidence inside. Suspicion could and would be cast upon anyone who was in the office at that time, and once the police learned the things I revealed about Mr. Pope's possible motive, they most certainly would have come knocking."

"Well then, let's have it," Lloyd folded his arms, "Where is this receptacle where Mr. Pope stored the body?"

"Detective Fletcher can answer that one for you. Detective, what new evidence did you find just yesterday?"

"Ah! Th-That bag!"

"Right. A bag with a strange material lining it that made it difficult to tear open."

"You tore open my bag, you savages?!" Oliver Pope raged.

Lloyd's eyes narrowed, "You tottering dunce...!"

"Thanks for admitting that, Mr. Pope," Robin smiled, "Detective, will you tell the court what was in that bag?"

"A shirt, size XXL, some pants, size 40x32, and a whole lotta blood."

"Objection! That could be anyone's blood!"

"Anyone's blood inside Mr. Pope's own bag? Still not much of an argument."

"It could even be his own."

"Objection! If we ask medical personnel, I'm sure they could tell you that losing the amount of blood found in that bag would be a lethal prospect. All the same, we can have the blood DNA tested, and I have no doubts it will match Nephenee Monell!"

"Then do it!" Lloyd growled, slamming his fist on his desk.

"Sir!" a young policeman saluted as he trotted into the room, "They finished the fingerprint analysis on the ID: matches to Lyndis Lorca, Robin LeBlanc, and Oliver Pope."

"Wh-Wh-What?!" Lloyd's jaw practically unhinged, "This... this can't be... no, this is all a bad dream..."

"I'm afraid it's all too real," Robin slammed his hands down on his desk, "Oliver Pope! Your fingerprints are on the defendant's ID, meaning you used it, presumably to enter the office prior to her meeting with the victim, as the records indicate! Once there, you opened the window and wiped your prints off of it and hid in the office! Once you were hidden, you waited for the women to enter the room, knocked both parties unconscious and then threw the victim out the open window! You left a duffel bag in the nearby alleyway so that you could carry the victim's body back up to the office while keeping it dry so that you could seal away the last of the evidence once you replaced the body! You left the victim's body in the office as planned, then smashed the coffee mug on the victim's head to create the spray of blood that would become the physical evidence, wiped the handle down, and put the defendant's fingers on it, as well as on the victim's ID! But something went wrong then, didn't it? Someone you didn't plan for had shown up to the office: Eliwood Fremont. You replaced Lyn's ID, forgetting to wipe it, and scrambled back to your office and called the police yourself, forgetting that you had also dropped the bag along the way, but it was too late to retrieve it, so you buried your head and hid in your office until Lyn was arrested! You killed Nephenee Monell because she was going to expose your whole sick operation to the world!"

The fat man shook. First with rage, then with laughter, his face growing redder and redder all the while until he looked like a plump strawberry, or an underripe plum. After several minutes of shouting and laughing and expelling every bit of his breath, he let out a long, deep sigh and spit, "You... can't pin this on me. I'm... I'm a businessman, an entrepreneur, a... a genius. I'm beautiful, I'm perfect. And you... you're so contemptibly ugly! You... you...!"

"Have I said something untrue, Mr. Pope?" Robin held his hands behind his back.

"You...! I'll crush you! I'll bury you! I'll end you the way I ended that stupid girl, too! You can't besmirch my name! You can't indict me! I'm invincible! I own everyone!" He began frothing at the mouth.

The judge banged his gavel, "That will be quite enough of that sordid display. Bailiff, please remove Mr. Pope from this courtroom."

It took over twenty minutes to silence the wave of excitement that spread through the court following those final remarks. During that time, Prosecutor Reed turned his back on his bench and walked out of the courtroom. The blood tests came back to Detective Fletcher and proved a positive match for Nephenee Monell. Lyndis Lorca wept softly behind the defense bench, and Heather Luxberg, hearing the news broadcast over the radio, dipped her head and felt a few tears roll down her cheeks as well. Robin LeBlanc spent those minutes gasping for breath, wondering where the hell he had been for the last three hours. When all was settled and the judge's voice had nearly given out from shouting and directing the bailiff, he pounded his gavel three times in rapid succession and ordered silence for the court. "If this court will come to order, it is my understanding that the jury has reached its verdict, and I will now take a moment to confer with them." The court waited in feverish silence while he did so. The gray-bearded man cleared his throat once the whispering was finished, "After conferring with the jury, in accordance with the law, this court finds Lyndis Lorca, on the charge of the first-degree murder of Nephenee Monell... Not guilty."

A few cheers and whistles rang out, photographs were taken, and in a blur, Robin was somehow ushered back out into the defense lobby.

[October 10th, 1:32 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

"Mr. LeBlanc!" As soon as Robin turned around, he found his wrists seized by the no-longer-manacled hands of a gleeful Lyndis Lorca. Her emerald eyes sparkled as they greeted his and she seemed to be vibrating with a pure, joyous energy as she bounded up and down, holding his wrists like one holds their own child when he has fallen.

"I take it you're pleased with my services?" the attorney smiled.

She wrapped him in a hug, "So happy. So very, very happy! I can't tell you how much I owe you!"

"You don't owe me anything, Lyn," he hazarded a friendly pat on the back, "You—well, your brother asked for a service and I rendered it, that's all."

"But my life would have been over if not for you!"

"I don't know about that!"

"Oh, you must let me take you to dinner some night!"

"That's really not necessary..."

"But it is! Oh, I'm sure daddy will give you all the lobster and steak you can ear when he learns what you did for me!"

"Well, maybe that wouldn't be bad," Robin supposed, saliva welling up in his cheeks at the mere thought of a good steak, moist and hot. He tried to restrain himself.

"Hey, kid!" Robin turned again. Colm was smoking in his direction. "Not bad," the detective said simply, "You got balls goin' up against Lloyd Reed, I'll tell ya that. Seems like ya pissed 'im off pretty good, too."

"Thanks, Detective Fletcher," Robin smiled, "I guess. Where is Prosecutor Reed?"

"He took off," the blue-haired detective looked toward the door, "Maybe he just couldn't handle it."

"Maybe," the attorney turned his attention in the same direction, half-expecting the prosecutor to appear in that very spot, "I know there were a few times I wanted to turn tail and run, too."

"Well, good thing ya didn't," Colm smirked, "Woulda deprived me o' that show. Oh, and don't worry, Pope is getting put away for a long time. I mean _long_. Fella's sweating bullets, and he should be. Even murderers and thieves don't take kindly to the sorta messed up crap he pulled."

"The thanks for that goes to Nephenee," the attorney acknowledged, "she put her life on the line to get that info out there, and she paid the price. It's only fair Oliver pays it, too."

Two more figures were entering the lobby, "Good show, Mr. LeBlanc, good show!"

"Thank you, Mr. Fremont," he grinned, "Uh, sorry about questioning you, Hector."

"Nah, it's cool, you did whatcha had to do," the young man conceded, "and you were right in the end, so what can I say? I can't believe I was working for a scumbag like Pope. I'd break that guy's gods-damn neck myself if I thought I could get away with it."

"It is a small pity we'll be out of a job, though," Eliwood sighed.

Lyn piped up, "You know, my daddy knows quite a lot of people in the business world. I could put in a good word for you guys, I'm sure he knows someone who'd appreciate the help."

"Really?" the redhead's eyes widened, "That'd be brilliant! Thank you, Lyn."

"It's no problem, I'd have been sunk without you guys," she hugged each of her co-workers, though her arms didn't fit around Hector's waist.

As the trio chattered for a few minutes between themselves, Robin felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Heather?"

"In the flesh."

"Are you calling from the detention center?"

"No, my boys bailed me outta that mess."

"Your 'boys?'"

"I thought I'd let you know, seeing as how you got me into that jam but also put Pope on ice."

"Know what?"

"Keep it under wraps now, you hear?"

"What?"

"Let me put it this way: investigating Oliver Pope wasn't all Nephenee's idea."

"Are you talking about corporate espionage?"

"If you asked me that question, I'd say no."

"Gotcha."

"Under wraps, got me?"

"Understood. But why tell me at all?"

"Like I said, you gave me some closure. I thought I'd do the same for you. Plus... who knows, maybe we'll see each other again. You're certainly going after the right people."

"I'm just taking what falls into my lap."

There was a laugh on the other end of the line, "All right, if you say so. Later days, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Robin is fine," he heard her hang up.

Rath Tolstoy had entered and broken up the trio, sticking protectively to his half-sister as he glared at the others with sharp, hawklike eyes. He looked at Robin, "You did some nice work, Mr. Lawyer. I'll see that you're compensated accordingly."

For some reason, the attorney felt a little boldness stirring in his chest, "Is that your money or your father's?"

The mafioso gave him a smirk, a mixed frown, "None of it's dirty, if that's what you're askin'. Just don't go causin' us problems, and we won't pay you no mind."

"Fine," he settled.

"Oh," Lyn shook her half-brother a bit, "Rath, I invited Mr. LeBlanc to dinner. We didn't decide on a date yet, but I think it'd be lovely, don't you?"

"Maybe, if you let me hang around," he smiled at her.

"Oh, Rath, you know you can't scope out my dates forever."

"I can try."

"Fine, fine, we can make it a slightly bigger party, then. Mr. LeBlanc, do you have a plus one you might want to bring along?"

Robin glanced at his phone, "I might have someone in mind."

_Looking back on it now, I wonder if that trial wasn't where it all really started. It was my first high-profile takedown, after all. Sure, I'd gone after an assassin the previous trial, but he wasn't much more than a cog in the machine compared to Oliver. If only I'd thought to ask more questions at the time. Who messed with Eliwood's phone and how? Who was Heather working for? Later, when I learned more, I started to wonder how I had been led to catch Oliver so easily, almost as if someone was leading me there... but I didn't have time to worry about it then, and I may have even less now. I wish I had a better reason for why I let things go at the end of that trial, but I didn't. It would make me pretty upset with myself if something strange but miraculous hadn't fallen into my lap shortly thereafter..._

[Turtledove Turnabout ~ End]


	8. Turnabout of a Kind: Invest Day 1

[October 17th, 8:43 pm, Ristorante Lama Ardente]

Anna stepped out of the car and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, retrieving her purse from the seat. She looked at her "date" as he walked around the front of the car to join her before entering the restaurant and glared at him. "Something wrong?" the young attorney wondered.

"Just still thinking you should have asked me before you agreed to this in my stead."

"You mean you _don't_ want to eat here?"

"Not the point."

"Come on, I didn't tell Lyn we were together, or anything. Think of it as your boss taking you out to dinner as a way to thank you for your diligent service."

"That makes it even grosser."

"Anna, don't be difficult—"

"Difficult? Oh, I'll give you difficult...!"

Robin hurried ahead to the door, not bothering to hold it open for his plus one as he marched straight up to the maitre d', feeling more comfortable surrounded by the tuxedoed waitstaff as the redhead strode in behind him. He looked at the maitre d', who was already giving him a glazed, disapproving stare, and said, "Uh, we're with the Tolstoy party this evening."

The man cocked an eyebrow and made his curly black hair shake, "Your names?"

"Robin and Anna."

"Just a moment," he held up his index finger and then disappeared behind a partition behind the podium at the entrance.

Anna was still glaring at Robin, now with her arms folded. "Just try to relax," Robin whispered, "it's just a little dinner, and then we'll go straight back to the office."

"Just don't get too cozy with the mob girl while I'm around, huh? I plan on getting home tonight."

"I know, I know. Sheesh, what kind of guy do you think I am?"

Anna coughed.

"On second thought, don't answer that."

The maitre d' suddenly reappeared, surprising both of them, "Your table is ready, if you'd follow me, _signore_." Robin did so, with Anna close behind him. Lyn spotted the pair from across the room and waved to them excitedly. Rath looked back and, shockingly enough, seemed to be smiling, although it appeared that that smile was not directed at the approaching pair. They sat down, Robin across from Lyn and Anna opposite Rath.

"Mr. LeBlanc, you made it!" the emerald-haired girl smiled, grabbing his hand as he rested it on the table, "Oh, and who is this?"

"I'm Anna Vendise," the redhead said as Lyn stared at her, "I'm Mr. LeBlanc's financial adviser."

"Oh!" she went on grinning, "pleased to meet you, Mrs. Vendise!"

"Uh, that's 'Miss.'"

"Oh, oops. Sorry. All of daddy's financial advisers are 'missus.'"

"Er, yes, well—"

"Did you do your own hair? It's so beautiful!"

Anna blushed, "Well, I don't mean to brag, but I like to think I clean up well enough."

"Ohmigosh, you have to tell me your secret! I can't do anything about mine most of the time, it gets so wild!"

Robin watched the emerald-haired girl chatter away, amused by her enthusiasm. He looked over at Rath, who seemed to be staring at him, albeit slightly off-center. After a moment of silent eye contact, the mafioso spoke up, "Took ya long enough."

"Sorry. I had to do some filing before I left."

He took a swig of wine and Robin began to detect a slur in his voice as he responded, "Doesn't matter. Ya gotta show up on time in my world, else you'll be called disrespectful as a pair o' guys twice your size fit you for some concrete shoes, ya dig?"

"I... think so."

"Ah, whadda you care, you ain't worried 'bout the damn mob. You're just an upstart lawyer. You don't care."

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but the inebriated young man held up his finger to illustrate that he had a further point to make: "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard you defended some Plegian girl, too. 'Zat right?"

"Yeah, she was a friend from back in my school days."

"So... you're Plegian?"

This line was delivered with a mystified stare and accusatory directness that made Robin consider whether or not he should answer. He decided it was best not to intensify the mafioso's suspicions: "Yes. I lived there until I started studying law."

Rath laughed and slapped his hands on the table, "Hell. Hey, no disrespect, now, but your folks are goddamn crazy, you know?"

"I'm not sure I—"

"I mean, Naga's sakes, talk about the mob all ya want, but Plegians are next-level. My dad wouldn't even want to hafta deal with any o' those dagger-totin' death-obsessed loons. Er, no offense."

"Do you really think Plegians are so dangerous?"

"Hell yeah! Don'cha watch the news? Every other day there's another attack on a Ylissean ambassador or diplomat."

"Well, both countries have been at each other's' throats for decades, at least. It's no surprise things are a little violent."

"Whatever, man. The Plegians take it way too far no matter what. I've even heard of something big starting up out that way."

"Big?"

"Yeah, man," he arched his brows, "you know, big."

Robin nodded, despite not having any clue what the remark was meant to suggest. He found himself thinking quite a bit about his old homeland recently. He had to remember to call Tharja to see how she was readjusting.

But for now, filet mignon and lobster tails were being doled out on the table, and Robin was going to appreciate the moment and apply his focus to that for a while.

[October 18th, 10:27 am, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Robin lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Or, he would be, were his phone not in the way. He tried to justify his listless internet browsing as researching potential case developments, but he never did seem to find any prospective clients in the videos and articles he clicked his way through. The thought of calling Tharja popped into his head as he sat around waiting for something else to happen, but as was often the case, somehow dialing the phone and preparing to interact was just too difficult a prospect, so he continued browsing the news site, catching a glimpse of the results of a local dance competition that was held a few days ago until he was interrupted by Anna jumping up and pushing her chair in.

"What the hell is this?!" she shouted, shoving the screen of her laptop into his face.

The attorney read the numbers, "Uh, fifty-five grand from the Lorca defense donated to a soup kitchen and a battered women's shelter."

"And do you see anything wrong with that?!"

"No...?"

"Robin! That was _all_ of the money we made from that case!"

"I know. I took the money at first, but... I don't care how clean it was, I can't hang onto mob money in good conscience. At least if it's going to help people in need, I can feel better."

Anna rubbed her hand over her face, "Look, I get what you're saying, but you have to be realistic about this, Robin: in the last six months, we've taken exactly two cases and received zero payment. If we don't get some money soon, the whole office will have to be closed."

"I know... We'll think of something..."

"That's not good enough! You _have_ to take a paying case, end of story."

"I will, I just... It would tarnish Fado's legacy if I..."

"Fado's legacy is going to be equally tarnished if his office and protégé go bankrupt."

The pair scowled at each other, but turned their heads rapidly when the door cracked open and a short girl with curly, tousled red hair strode in. "Um, excuse me?" she coughed, "I'm looking for Mr. Robin LeBlanc."

Robin hopped up from the couch to get a good look at the girl. She was wearing a navy hooded sweatshirt with a gold or tan t-shirt underneath, gray sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers with red stripes. In short, she didn't look like the type who would go out seeking a lawyer without an eminent reason. In fact, looking at the way the girl's coffee-brown eyes blithely reflected his own, it seemed that even she failed to truly understand the gravity of what she was asking. "Uh, that'd be me," the attorney stammered out.

She nodded, then frowned, "Oh, good. I need to ask you to defend me. I was arrested for murder."

"Arrested? Shouldn't you be at the detention center, then?"

"It's okay, I got special permission. My mom's a pretty important lady, so the police have to work with her."

"And who is your mother, exactly?"

The girl bit her lip, "Well, she's not exactly my mom, but she is my legal guardian, and I've known her since I was just a baby, so I call her 'mom.'"

"But what's her name? And while we're at it, what's yours?"

"Oh, right!" she tapped her forehead, "I'm Morgan. Morgan Cassidy. And my mom— I mean, my guardian's name is Eirika Verlaine."

Anna and Robin exchanged glances. "Eirika Verlaine," Robin wondered, "the daughter of Fado Verlaine?"

Morgan Cassidy looked at both of them in turn, "I think that's what mom said her dad's name was. Why?"

"I used to work for Fado," Robin explained, "and so did Anna, here. I never got the chance to meet any of Fado's children, so the fact that your mom sent you here is just... Well, it's surprising."

"So... does this mean you'll take on my defense, or...?"

"I have to ascertain some of the facts first. Of what are you being accused?"

The girl's eyes lowered to the floor as she rubbed her arm, "They arrested me for murder... they think I killed Ewan. But... but I didn't! There's no way I could've! I would never!"

"Slow down, Ms. Cassidy," Robin held his hands out, realizing that he sounded a bit like a schoolteacher trying to placate the girl, "Who's Ewan?"

"Ewan is... he was a friend of mine. One of... a couple. I don't have a whole bunch of friends, but Ewan was definitely one. He was so nice, and smart, and... what happened to him... it's not..." She trailed off, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"Okay," Anna walked forward, "this has clearly got you pretty upset, huh kiddo? So let's do this: why don't you take Mr. LeBlanc to see your mom, and then maybe she can clear some things up for him?"

"A wise idea," Robin agreed.

"I guess that makes sense," she sniffed, "Sorry, I've just never had anything like this..."

"It's all right. Come on downstairs," the attorney walked past her and opened the door to the office, nodding at Anna as he held it open for the girl to follow behind him. As the pair exited the building, they found a squad car sitting out front with its lights flashing, a young police officer standing before it, leaning his back against the car. He sneered when he saw Morgan appear. Robin nodded to the man, urging Morgan forward, "We'd like to go speak to her mother."

"Nope," the cop spat, "I was given special orders to take her here, and that's that. She goes straight back to the detention center when she's done."

"You know this is Fado Verlaine's granddaughter, right?" Robin supplied, carefully awaiting the officer's reaction.

"Yeah, and I don't give a damn. Seems stupid to me that she even gets this much just 'cause of who her granddad was. I'm not making any more exceptions."

"But... mom..." the girl pouted.

Robin looked down at her and tacitly patted her shoulder, "Er, no worries, Morgan. Stiff upper lip. I'm sure your mom can help me nail down what's going on here."

"Mr. LeBlanc," she wasn't looking at him, "you didn't answer my question. Will you defend me?"

"I... I don't know..."

"You have to say yes or no now, and you have to promise. You can't go back on a promise. That's what mom says."

In that moment, despite the juvenile nature of her statement, Robin could swear he saw the gray eyes of his mentor staring at him from behind the milky brown of this girl's. Loath to disappoint those eyes, he felt his heartbeat quicken: "Y-Yes. I'll defend you. I promise."

"Good," she nodded, her smile causing the comparison to Fado's face disappear as the juvenile air overtook her again, "I was gonna be in a really bad spot if you said no."

"You have to help me and answer my questions if I need information, though, okay?"

"Oh, sure, I like answering questions! I can tell you anything you need to know!"

 _That was quite the mood swing_ , Robin noted internally, "Just be good, okay? I'll come visit you soon, and I'm sure your mom will do the same."

"'Be good,'" she chuckled, mocking him, "I'm not an eight-year-old, Mr. LeBlanc."

He believed it, but he also believed she wasn't that far off from eight, given how her mood and behavior seemed to change at the drop of a hat. Had he promised to defend someone unstable? The thought made his stomach tense as he watched her, the apparent similarity to Fado having disappeared as she was loaded into the car. Then again, Robin also felt a stirring seeing such a young girl being put in the back of this car. It seemed surreal. He heard the cop shift the car into gear and begin turning out of the lot. When the tires crunched over the gravel near the end of the building's entrance, Robin snapped back into reality, remembering that he would have to pay a visit to Fado's daughter and figure out what she was doing taking care of this girl and what the girl's situation was. Continued thoughts of his mentor made the attorney's mind feel foggy as he went back upstairs to find an address for Eirika Verlaine, and with another quick salute to Anna, he left the office.

[October 18th, 11:18 am, Verlaine Home for Children]

Robin entered the door and glanced at the paper streamers and crayon drawings lining the walls. No sooner had he gotten two feet in the door than did he hear footsteps racing forward to meet him. He halted in place and was struck for a moment by what he had to confess was an intimidating face: A woman with aqua hair and somewhat sharp blue eyes was looking back at him, a toddler in baggy beige shorts wrestling against her grip. She wore a red t-shirt with yellow sleeves—Robin thought maybe it was a certain team's colors—and blue jeans and she was tapping her foot while glaring at him, "Ever heard of a doorbell, mack?"

"Sorry," he felt his face get hot, "it's just that the door was open, and—"

"And so you decided you'd just let yourself in? I dunno how it works where you're from, buddy, but around here you can't just go barging into people's houses."

"Pardon," he tried unsuccessfully to hide his blushing, "this is going all wrong. Are you Eirika Verlaine?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Who's asking?"

Finally with an out, the attorney reached into his pocket and fished out his credentials, presenting them rather forcefully toward her face, "Robin LeBlanc. I used to work for your father."

"Oh!" her eyes widened and she released her grip on the toddler as her hand came up to her face, "No kidding? I know the name. Wait... if you're here... does that mean...?"

"A girl came by the office asking for me, said her name was Morgan Cassidy. She wanted me to defend her."

"So it is you!" her eyes tightened closed as her mouth formed a big smile, "You're the attorney that used to assist daddy! It's so good to finally meet you!"

"Er, likewise," he scratched the back of his head. _Maybe this is where Morgan got it from..._

"Sorry," she began busily combing her hair with her fingers, "I didn't prepare to meet you at all because I wasn't sure what you were going to say or if you'd come her or... ugh, I look like a total mess."

"It's fine, really."

"And I didn't mean to be rude to you, it's just, you know, I have to watch over the kids and—"

"Yes, about that... Do you have a lot of children?"

She laughed, "You could say that. They're not exactly _my_ children, though, if that's what you mean. I run an orphanage."

"Ah," Robin smiled, "that would explain it. So Morgan was one of the children in your care?"

"You got it," she nodded, "She's such a little sweetie, that one. She used to follow me around the house like a lost puppy, and she'd always want me to read to her when it was raining because she couldn't go out and play... ah, memories."

"Um, but she's been charged with murder, is that right?"

Eirika nodded, "But I don't believe it for a second. Morgan's a great kid. She had fantastic grades from first grade to senior year."

"Senior year? Of high school?"

"Yep, she graduated in June with a 3.87. Isn't that great? And living in this busy old place... she's smart and a hard worker. She'll go far! ...Well, assuming she gets out of this mess."

Robin was still hung up on the fact that the girl had already graduated high school. She looked fourteen at the very oldest. He recovered from that shock and tried to continue, "Uh, right. So, I heard the name Ewan pop up... she said he was a friend?"

The aqua-haired woman's eyes fixed on him and became more serious, "That's right. Ewan Allen was the name of the poor little boy who was killed. There's no way it was Morgan, though. That girl wouldn't hurt a fly, and what's more, Ewan was a good friend of hers. One of her little circle of classmates."

"She mentioned that, too," Robin recalled, "can you tell me more about this circle of friends she had?"

"Oh, sure!" she smiled again, "They're all good kids, too. Ewan was going on to university, to learn about chemical engineering, or something... He helped Morgan in a chemistry class during her sophomore year, so he was the most recent addition. There's also Ross Hammond, who she's known since kindergarten—a bit thick, that one, but he's handy, Cath Nichols she met in an art class she took in middle school—oh, the two of them used to wear their hair and dress the same like they were sisters, ha ha! Then there was Nino Cooper, another smart girl, she and Morgan competed in a lot of quiz bowls and that sort of thing... Oh, and Inigo Morales, of course! She met him back in middle school, too. It was actually at one of his dance competitions that Ewan was killed. Don't tell her I said this, but I always suspected Morgan had a little crush on him."

Robin was furiously making mental notes, having forgotten to actually have a notebook present, "I see. That's all very interesting. Could you tell me where that dance competition was held? I'd like to get a look at the scene."

She did so, then added, "You might want to see if you can talk to some of those kids, too. They'll know more about what happened that night than I ever would. Morgan knows their addresses, but I'm not so sure..."

"That's fine. You've already been a big help, Ms. Verlaine."

"Hey, no trouble. I was hoping I could count on you, being a friend of dad's and all. Maybe when this all blows over, we can sit down and chat about him. I'd love to know what it was like working under him."

"Certainly. But first, I should probably check on Morgan in the detention center. I'm sure she'll have some things to say about the night of the crime.

"Right, right. Don't let me slow you down—I gotta get back to these crazy kids, anyway. Thanks for stopping by! Oh, and for helping little Morgie!"

"Sure thing," he answered, although Eirika Verlaine had already disappeared. He heard her suggest through the wall a game of hide and seek which was met with a loud round of cheers. The attorney smiled to himself and headed out toward his car.

[October 18th, 12:22 pm, Detention Center]

Robin entered the building and only had to sign in momentarily with the secretary, who seemed to recognize him upon entry. He wasn't sure if that was something of which he should feel proud. He passed the desk and grabbed a seat in front of the plexiglass that separated him from Morgan Cassidy, whose head was halfway buried in her collar. She looked up when Robin sat down, but her expression remained neutral, her cheeks pouting and her lips forming a very straight line. "Hi again, Morgan," the attorney saluted, "I assume you haven't been waiting too long."

"No," she agreed, tapping her fingers on the small counter space in front of her.

"Can I ask you some questions about what happened?"

"If you have to."

"Are you upset with me... or someone else, Morgan?"

"No, why?"

"You seemed a bit cheerier when we first met."

"Sorry, I just... I feel a little down... I'm sure you can imagine."

"You're right, I shouldn't pry. All the same, I have to ask you about some things, is that okay?"

She nodded, her small brown eyes seeming to find it difficult to concentrate on those of her attorney.

"So," Robin LeBlanc began, "let's start with the basics: where were you when the murder happened?"

"I was at one of Inigo's dance competitions... Er, Inigo is the name of one of my friends."

"Okay, and what were you doing there? Were you with anyone?"

"Yeah, all of my other friends were there, too. It was a lot of fun, we hung out in the audience and cheered for Inigo's group when they hit the stage. He did a great job—you shoulda seen this one move he has where he does a big backflip and then spins forward and points out his arm like a fencer, he calls it the Exalted Gateway! It was such a fun night, and Nino had us all make casts of our hands the week before that she showed off, mounted in her room. I'd never felt so close to my friends before."

"That sounds nice, Morgan, but can we stick to what you were doing?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Well, there wasn't much happening besides groups coming to the stage and performing... Lots of people went to get drinks and snacks when the next group was getting set up. Oh, right! I went to the bathroom during one of those breaks, and then... it happened."

"I see. But shouldn't that give you an alibi? Didn't you tell your friends you were going to the bathroom?"

She rubbed her arm, "Well, that's sort of the problem... Ewan... he was murdered in the boys' bathroom."

 _So it gave her exactly the opposite of an alibi. Great._ Robin shook his head, "Um, was there anyone else in the bathroom at that time? Someone who might remember seeing you there?"

Her cheeks grew red and she scratched her arm a bit more vigorously, "I... uh, I couldn't actually find the bathroom until... after. I was walking all around, but I couldn't spot the sign because of the crowd."

"Hm," Robin frowned, "that's no good. Did any of your friends see you wandering around, maybe?"

She shook her head miserably, "I don't think so. The crowd was so big... Nobody saw, and nobody believes me..."

"Try to calm down, Morgan. I... I believe you," the attorney told himself.

"Do you mean that?" her eyes finally managed to lock onto his.

"Yes. I believe you didn't do it," he nodded, deepening his voice to give the impression of confidence.

"Thank you," her head bowed, and then she smiled ever so slightly, "Um, I don't think there's anything more I can tell you."

"I think there is one more thing," Robin returned, "do you know if there was anyone there who disliked Ewan? Somebody who might be his enemy?"

"Enemy?" she scoffed at the word, "No, not that I'm aware of. Ewan was super nice, maybe even a little bit of a pushover, honestly. There are people who may not have hung out with him, but I don't think he's… he was really the type to have 'enemies.'"

"All right," Robin sat back, "I guess that's all I have, then. Are you going to be okay if I leave?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "it's fine. Mom's gonna come see me soon. She promised she would."

"Okay," he nodded and gave her a smile, "Thank you, Morgan. Take care of yourself, okay?"

She answered in the affirmative as he attorney headed out.

[October 18th, 1:08 pm, Les Chevaliers Night Club]

Robin stepped out of his car and glanced at the façade of the building again. You'd never know the place was a nightclub if not for the small neon sign that was flashing fuchsia every now and again announcing drink specials and events. The scroll hadn't changed since the night of the crime, apparently, because "City-Wide Dance Contest!" was still proudly being announced alongside Happy Hour and forty-cent wings. Otherwise, the building was unremarkable: cream colored, except for orange-red roofing and a similarly-colored door. Even the windows were dark or blocked, making the whole place look a bit suspicious, if not simply run-down, especially in the middle of the day. Robin could even see trash bags lain carelessly around the front of the building, as if someone had set them out there but was too lazy to ensure that they reached the dumpster mere feet away. With a heavy sigh, the attorney entered the club.

The inside was a bit more respectable, although it was terribly dark. Fuchsia and magenta were the dominating colors, reinforced by the dark curtains of the club and smoky lights that barely illuminated anything other than the stage, which occupied about a third of the space in the building. In addition to looking dark, the place was eerily quiet in the absence of any customers. Some glassware sat out on tables, and the chairs nearby were still facing the stage, like everyone had suddenly gotten up and disappeared. To some extent, that was the truth.

"I'm done with you!" Robin turned his head in time enough to see a certain cobalt-haired detective storm out of an office toward the back of the building. With him trotted a girl who seemed to be resisting. Her hair seemed to match the color of the curtains behind them.

"But Detective Fletcher!" the girl protested, "We still have so many questions we could ask! What if he's the one who—"

"Part o' bein' a good detective is knowin' when to let go, rookie. That's the name of the game. Trust me, that guy's a dry well."

"B-But... I thought..." The girl's lips began to wobble and she sobbed, "I thought I was doing such a good joooooob! Waaaaaaah!"

Detective Fletcher seemed to immediately regret his words, patting her shoulders delicately, "Aw, c'mon, take it easy, girly! You were doin' great, it's just that the guy's useless. Sheesh, how're you gonna make it as a detective when you break down so easy?"

"I... I..." she sniveled, seeming on the verge of another outburst.

"Detective?" Robin dared to approach.

Colm Fletcher turned to him, "Heh, if it ain't you again. You followin' me, lawyer? I know I'm pretty good lookin', but you're barkin' up the wrong tree."

"I'm here on behalf of the defendant again."

"How'd I guess?"

"I can get an affidavit if you—"

"Nah, forgeddit. I got my hands full as it is. I don't expect you to be any trouble."

"Who's your friend?"

The girl leapt out from the detective's grasp. "Neimi Watts," she beamed, "Junior Detective!" The girl flashed a badge at him, but Robin didn't take a close look at her credentials.

"I'm training her," the senior detective explained, "Which is proving to be a lot trickier than I'd imagined. Ms. Watts is kinda prone to being... overly emotional."

"And overcoming that flaw is a part of my training!" she insisted, "Go on, tell me the saddest thing you can imagine, and I won't cry a single tear! Even if it's _really_ sad, like a sick kitten, or something!"

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but the girl was already starting to sniffle and murmuring the words "sick kitten" repeatedly.

Detective Fletcher massaged his forehead, "Anyway, why don't you go take a look around. Just don't mess anything up. I'm gonna be... a little busy today."

"Evidently," Robin was still looking curiously at the crying girl, "Well, good luck, detective."

"I gotta sneakin' suspicion luck ain't gonna be enough," Colm Fletcher muttered as he walked Neimi out of the building.

Robin watched them leave, then glanced around the room a bit. He couldn't see anything on the stage, so he wandered over to the restrooms. He found that the men's was wrapped in some police tape and that the door was firmly locked. He sighed, thinking the trip was wasted, but quickly remembered the office the detective had exited. With no other options, the attorney entered the corner office and found a surprisingly young-looking gentleman with olive-green hair sitting at a desk inside.

The man looked up from staring disinterestedly at his computer and smiled at his guest, "Hello, hello! How do you do? Terribly sorry, but due to an unfortunate incident, Club Les Chevaliers is not open to the public at this time."

"Oh," Robin paused, "Sorry, I wasn't sure if anyone was in here. I'm actually an attorney for the defendant in that 'incident.' I was just having a look around."

"Ah!" the man sprang to his feet so that Robin could see he was wearing a garish green tuxedo with gold trim, "In that case, I can give you the tour, just like a did for the detective and his lovely little assistant!"

"A tour isn't really necessary, thanks," Robin shook his head, "I just wanted to see if I could get into the bathroom."

"Restrooms are for paying customers only," the man smiled.

"I meant so that I could investigate the scene of the murder."

"Right," the green-haired man frowned, "That would be the more logical thing, wouldn't it... Sorry, my mind is going a million miles a minute lately."

"Understandable," Robin nodded.

"Come with me, I'll get the door for you," the man said, walking past the attorney toward the restrooms.

"Do you work here?" the attorney wondered as they walked.

"I most certainly do. I own this little joint." He spun around and offered his hand, "Sain Cheval, at your service!"

Robin took it tacitly, "Uh, thanks. So, can I safely assume that you were at the club on the night the murder occurred?"

"Yes indeedy," he replied, "I was watching the night from my office—it's a great view, seeing the stage lit up with everyone performing and all the people down below having fun. Just what I love to see, you know?"

"Sure. Did you see anyone moving around the bathroom at the time of the murder, or otherwise acting strangely that night?"

"Ha! Well, I saw a great many gents go to the bathroom, but I hardly think that counts for much. At any rate, I'm not supposed to say anything about what I saw. That's what the prosecutor told me."

"Prosecutor?"

"Yes, Mr… Lead, I think it was. Roy Lead?"

"Do you mean Lloyd Reed?"

"That's the one!"

 _Oh, good_ , thought Robin, _Lloyd's already been chatting with everyone here. That can only make my job harder_. At this point, the pair reached the men's room, which Sain opened and gave a sweeping gesture to welcome Robin. The attorney walked in and looked all around for any leads. The room was small, roughly a third of the size of the main room he had just been in. There were four stalls and three urinals against the wall, as well as three sinks each beneath a wall-size mirror that was high enough to show only the head and shoulders of most guests. The room was also significantly less flashy than the rest of the club: white walls, gray tile, white ceiling, and several flickering fluorescent lights that cast an unpleasant, industrial type of light. Before long, Robin's attention was attracted by some orangish-red stains lining the floor near one of the sinks. There were some accompanying stains in the sink itself, though their color was slightly brighter. Robin's nose curled when he spotted the blood and he uneasily drew closer. "I take it this is the victim's?" he said, looming over the faded-looking drops.

"That's what the coppers seemed to believe," Sain nodded, "I hate having to leave my floor dirty like that, but that's what they said to do…"

Robin ignored him and kept looking, spotting a knife whose handle and blade were both soaked in blood and sitting not far from the pool he had been looking at previously, "This knife… Must be the murder weapon, it's coated in blood. Looks like a steak knife, something you'd find in a kitchen, doesn't it?"

"Ah," Sain fawned, "You're asking me? Hm, well, I can't say I'm much of a detective, but I'd have to agree."

"Does Les Chevaliers have a kitchen, Mr. Cheval?" asked the attorney.

"Indeed we do," he nodded, then paused, "Er, but before you go throwing accusations around, we went over this with the police and double-checked our inventory: the knife isn't one of ours. All of our knives are in their proper place."

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Who's 'we?'"

As if in reply to his question, the bathroom door swung open, and a man with red hair and a stern face stepped in, "Sain, what are you doing in here? We have an owners' meeting right now."

"Ah, right!" the green-haired man jumped up, "Mr. Attorney, allow me to introduce you to Kent Clarke, my business partner and the co-owner of Club Les Chevaliers. Kent, this is… er, say, what was your name, anyway?"

"Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law," Robin offered his hand to the redheaded man.

He was ignored, "Come on, Sain. And you, you need to leave. We can't risk you messing around with evidence in the absence of the police.

Robin was prepared to protest, but it seemed obvious by the look in the man's eyes that he would not be swayed. In any case, Robin had other inquiries to make, and he was sure that he would be hearing all about the crime scene during the trial thanks to Lloyd's meddling. He relented, leaving the bathroom, but paused a moment to take notice of something large and made of fabric sticking out of one of the trash cans. It seemed to be a shirt, or something similar, but Robin was dragged out of the establishment before he could get a closer look.

As he smoothed out his suit jacket, throwing Kent Clarke a spiteful look, Robin turned to look toward the sun, whereupon a blue-haired man greeted him with a big smile. "Ha! Looks like my timing is impeccable!"

"Sorry," Robin rubbed his eyes as they readjusted to the daylight, "Who are you?"

"My name is Inigo Morales," he grinned, "you might have heard about me from some local news media… I'm quite popular, it seems."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Robin shrugged.

Inigo's face fell, "Ah! Alas… Well, all the same, I'm here not to introduce myself, but to speak to you, who I assume are the attorney Mr. Robin LeBlanc?"

"That's right. What's this about?"

"I'm a friend of the dear Ms. Morgan Cassidy, your client! Incidentally, I was also getting ready to perform last night when tragedy befell our mutual friend Ewan."

"Oh, now that you mention it, that does sound familiar. Why are you looking for me?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ms. Verlaine told me you might be in need of my assistance. Go on, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Oh, um, sure! Did you happen to see Morgan go to the bathroom at any point during the evening?"

"I'm afraid not. The police already asked me about that one, and I told them the same thing. I was still getting ready backstage when it happened, you see, so I didn't realize anything had happened until the commotion was long over."

"Were any of your other friends in attendance at the competition?"

"Oh, sure, they all were! Well, all of my close friends, anyway. There was Morgan, Ewan, Ross, Nino, and Cath. They all stood out there cheering me on the whole evening. I could scarcely ask for better friends."

"Were any of them behaving strangely that night?"

"Not that I can recall, no. Nino was a little depressed, but then so was Ross, and Morgan too, to some extent… Everyone was trying to make each other feel a little better. This was to be our last big outing as friends, you see, given that we all just graduated."

"Do you know of anyone who would've wanted Ewan dead?"

"Goodness no! Ewan was a very meek kid. In that regard, we might be more alike than I care to admit… Ahem, in any case, he didn't really fight or argue with anyone. Although, come to think of it, I do remember an incident about rumors not too long ago where Ewan ended up getting punched."

 _Now we're getting somewhere!_ thought Robin. "Can you tell me anything more about that?"

"Not really, I'm afraid," Inigo sighed, "Ewan said someone had been spreading ill rumors about him, then the next time I saw him, his nose was a bit bent, and he told me that he had been hit, but that everything had been worked out. He seemed a little upset talking about it, so I didn't pry."

"I see," Robin deflated. _And there it goes._ "How long ago was that?"

"About a week, I think."

"Do you remember anything else out of the ordinary leading up to that night?"

"Well, to be honest, I know this sounds bad, but… Well, Morgan had been getting a little more reclusive in the nights prior to the competition. She seemed resentful, like she didn't want to talk to any of us. She seemed perfectly happy the night of the event, though."

"That's good to know. Thanks, Inigo," the attorney nodded.

"Not at all, Mr. LeBlanc!" he beamed, "Er, but do me a favor? Get poor Morgan declared not guilty, all right? She's done nothing wrong, I'm sure of it. Besides, it would be a shame to never see her radiant smile again."

"I'll do my best," the attorney replied.

"That's all I can ask," the dancer grinned as he took off.

"Oh, just a moment, Inigo!" Robin called after him. He turned around to look back at the attorney. "Would around to look back at the attorney. "Would you mind giving me the numbers of those other friends you mentioned?"

"Certainly!" he smiled and brought out his phone so that Robin could copy all of the numbers.

When Robin finished collecting them, he thanked Inigo once more and jumped into his car.

[October 18th, 3:42 pm, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Robin busily dusted a few countertops and paused every few seconds to take a peek out the window. When, inevitably, he saw nothing, he would go back to putting books away and tossing little bits of litter he found scattered about into the trash cans.

Anna observed this behavior with little more than a cocked eyebrow for some time, but she eventually piped up, "Expecting someone?"

"A couple of someones, actually," he replied, "friends of our client. I asked them if I could meet them all at once, to shorten things up. They're due here any minute."

"We're definitely getting paid for this case, right?" Robin mumbled something. Anna rolled her eyes and went back to work, "First time I've seen him clean this damn place in ages…"

Suddenly, the sound of an engine came from outside as a car rolled up to the lot around the building. Robin seated himself on a chair near the end of the office couch as he waited in a few minutes of suspenseful silence while the arriving group ascended to their floor. One of them knocked on the office door. "Come in!" Robin shouted.

The group did so. They were a mismatched bunch, with the only governing rule about them seeming to be that they were quite short. There were two girls and a boy: the boy had black, short, spiked hair and big bluish eyes accompanied by a wide smile and an optimistic pleasantness. He wore overalls that drew up over a brown shirt that was stained with paint, dust, and grease, among other undefinable substances. One of the girls had grass-green hair and similar eyes. She wore a purple hoodie that was a bit like Morgan's, but looked older. Her hair was mostly neat, held in place by a purple bow to complement her dark-colored attire, which also included black pants and shoes. The other girl had scarlet red hair and a crooked sort of smile that suggested she was immediately sizing up everyone in the room. She seemed to take particular note of Anna, but then returned her concentration to the attorney. She sported a very simple outfit: a tan t-shirt, with a green long-sleeve shirt tied around her waist and a pair of old-looking jeans. Robin thanked them all for coming and offered them a seat before asking their names. The boy was Ross Hammond, the green-haired girl was Nino Cooper, and the redhead was Cath Nichols.

Robin began to repeat the litany of questions he had posed to Inigo: no, none of them had seen Morgan go to use the bathroom, and no, none of them remembered her acting oddly that night. He continued, "Inigo told me that was supposed to be your last night together as friends, right? Where were you all going after that night?"

"Well," Ross rubbed his nose, "I was off to trade school so I could learn to work in my dad's shop! He's a carpenter, and the best around, y'see."

"I… I'm not really sure," Nino admitted, "I was thinking about going to college, but I'm not sure. Circumstances might make it difficult."

"I was gonna do some travelling," said Cath, interlocking her fingers, "My parents were willing to send me out of the country to become a little more… worldly. I figured it could be fun and help me figure out what I'm going to do with my life."

"Did any of you hear about someone spreading rumors about Ewan?" Robin asked. The trio looked at each other and shook their heads collectively: they hadn't.

"I do remember Morgan being upset about something, though," Cath added.

"Any idea what it was?" the attorney pressed.

"Not really. She just seemed a little bummed, maybe more like disappointed. I couldn't say why, though."

"You don't recall anything more like that, any of you?" They denied it again. "Did you know of anyone who might have wanted to see Ewan hurt?" Their answers were similar to the ones Robin had gotten before: no, Ewan was very kind, and they had no idea who would have had any desire to harm him. Robin sighed and asked a few more questions, but the interrogation was ultimately fruitless, and he sent the friends on their way.

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a softer amber glow on the land below. Anna looked over to the attorney, "Get what you needed?"

"I see why the police weren't too concerned about keeping those kids on hand as witnesses. I guess I'll just have to try to piece together whatever I can at trial time, like usual."

"On track for another all-nighter, then?"

"Seems that way?"

"Well, it's almost five. Why don't I run out and get some takeout? You can have some throughout the night."

"What about you?"

"I'll take what I need and clear out when quitting time comes around."

Robin LeBlanc smiled and pulled out one of his notebooks, as well as a pen, "Thanks, Anna."

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Investigation Day 1 – End]


	9. Turnabout of a Kind: Day 1 Trial Former

[October 19th, 8:43 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin LeBlanc was reexamining his notes carefully as he heard footfalls behind him. He was no more prepared for this trial than any of his previous cases, but the question this time was even more complicated, so to say he was feeling pressured by the circumstances would be a significant understatement. He had his head so firmly engrossed in reevaluations of the curt statements given by Morgan's friends that he didn't hear the girl herself approach and sit down in front of him. He was still considering Inigo's mention of the rumors surrounding Ewan when Eirika Verlaine joined her adopted daughter.

"Mr. LeBlanc," she said in a shrill, striking sort of way to grab his attention.

The attorney's head rose snappily, "Huh?! Oh, Ms. Verlaine… and Morgan. Good to see you both."

Eirika's expression told him the feeling was not mutual. "How are things looking? Regarding the trial, I mean," she asked.

"It's early," Robin replied, trying to throw her off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eirika frowned.

Robin broadened his shoulders and squared himself before her, extending his arm to suggest the confidence he knew his words were sorely lacking, "It means it's hard to know anything before the trial has even started. I have all the information I need, but I can't be confident about anything that will happen in the courtroom until things start moving."

"I guess that makes sense," the young woman's aqua hair drooped in front of her face as she bowed her head, looking at her legs.

"I'm not worried." Robin had failed to notice, but now he saw that Morgan's eyes were starry, beaming back at him like she was meeting her favorite actor face-to-face. "One of the guards let me watch the tapes of Mr. LeBlanc's last two trials," she explained, "They were amazing! The way Mr. LeBlanc takes all of that stuff and turns it all on its head, and all the shocked faces in the courtroom—wow! It was like a real-life courtroom drama!"

Robin smiled, but Eirika remained unimpressed, "Well, we don't need any drama today, we just need a 'not guilty' verdict asap."

"But it was cool," Morgan continued.

"I appreciate you saying so, Morgan," Robin sighed, "but your mom's right: the best thing we can do is get this over with and get you acquitted quickly."

"You're going to find out who did it, too, aren't you?" the little girl asked.

"That's not necessarily in my job description," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"But you always do!" she protested, pouting, "You have to find out who really hurt Ewan! Someone deserves to answer for that crime, and you have to figure out who, or… or… I'll never forgive you!"

 _For someone so young, she sure is demanding. Not to mention, her expectations are a little high_. Robin sighed and shrugged at her, "I can't make promises about that sort of thing, Morgan, but I can promise that I'll do my best to get this whole mess figured out."

"Oh, and don't be mean to my friends."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah, the police officer who brought me in here said they all might end up as witnesses, so I wanted to tell you not to be mean to them, like you were to that one guy… uh, the fat one. Please don't do that to any of my friends."

"I'll try, but I might have to be a little mean to them in order to make sure they're telling the whole truth, so that you get declared innocent, you know?"

"I guess… Please at least take it easy?"

"I can do that."

"Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc."

"No problem. By the way, Morgan, this'll probably be our last chance to talk privately before the trial, so, I wanted to ask, is there anything more you want to tell me or that you think might be important?"

She pressed her index finger to her cheek and cocked her head to the side, "Um, I don't think so."

"You don't have any idea why they might think you wanted to kill Ewan?" the attorney wondered.

Morgan's lips parted to speak, but she lowered her head and closed them, "No. Everything was… fine. There was no reason for it to be a problem."

"For what to be a problem?"

"Ah. Um, my relationship with Ewan, I mean. We were friends, on good terms and all, you know."

"I see."

They heard the footsteps of a police officer approaching, who extended a hand clutching a pair of handcuffs to Morgan, "Sorry, but the trial will be starting soon. We need to process the defendant."

Robin LeBlanc nodded and watched as the girl's hands were held together and slapped into the handcuffs before being led off. He couldn't help but frown as he watched her eyes glimmer, reflecting the overhead lights, before being walked out of the room. The attorney faced Eirika Verlaine, who was looking similarly distressed, pursing her lips at the disappearing back of the girl. "It's a terrible shame what they're doing to her," Eirika sighed, "The kind of thing dad would've never stood for."

"True enough," Robin agreed, "Fado wouldn't let anyone be in that bad of shape before sitting through a trial. I wish I knew how he consoled them…"

"Not just that," the aqua-haired woman noted, "they're making the poor girl sit trial in front of all her friends. I mean, they may not all be called as witnesses, but every one of them made a statement. Do you think they'll always look at her differently after this, knowing that they all spoke against her in some way, thinking she might've killed one of their mutual friends?"

Robin blinked a few times, feeling a distinct unsettled shake in the pit of his stomach. He decided he'd rather not answer the question.

It didn't matter, because Eirika elected to change the subject anyway, "So, you worked with my dad… what would he do at this stage of the game?"

Robin took a moment to imagine Fado Verlaine strutting into the courthouse, his square brow locking his eyes into sharp determination, the flow of the loose corners of his olive suit and the subtle professionalism that oozed out of every fiber of his wide wine-colored tie. In those days, Robin would look up at him with his sharp jaw enclosed by the softness of his beard, and within moments, Fado would begin to explain their strategy. Fado's approach was ever that of rationality: it was important, he had noted, to bear in mind the exact letters of the law, and to never jump onto a line of questioning just because it looked convenient. There had to be a particular meaning behind every word a person said, Robin remembered him explaining; when you know _why_ a person has said something, only then can you begin to understand what they've really said. Robin had responded that that sounded backward, and that it was impossible to know what motivated someone to say something before they said it. Fado let out a booming laugh and slapped his student on the back, agreeing, but saying he'd meant his advice metaphorically, as a way to think about what had been said, rather than simply taking words at face value. To this day, Robin was having trouble putting the lesson into practice.

He returned to the present moment as Eirika was snapping her fingers at him, "Hello? Worried client wondering what you're planning to do, here."

"S-Sorry," he stammered, shaking his head, "Uh, well, since this is the first trial, the best thing we can do to start is learn all we can about the investigation. Once we figure that out, we can start to throw their theories back at them with any contradicting evidence we find."

"And then what?" she arched her eyebrows expectantly.

Robin looked to each side, "Er, that's it. That's as much as I can plan for now."

Eirika's eyebrows remained in the same position, but before she could remark upon anything, the bailiff called to them, "The trial is about to begin. Will Mr. LeBlanc please enter?"

Robin picked up his things and gave a quick nod to Eirika, who gave him a reciprocally lukewarm gesture, and the attorney entered the courtroom.

[October 19th, 9:02 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

Stirrings and murmurs in the court came to a halt as the judge rapped his gavel a few times and called for order. All eyes turned forward to face the gray-bearded man as he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, "this court will now come to order for the trial of Ms. Morgan Cassidy. Bailiff, would you please bring the defendant to the stand?"

The bailiff complied and took the handcuffed girl by the arm up to the witness stand. The judge looked at her from across his desk and put on a pair of small glasses that sat near the end of his nose. "It pains me to see one so young accused of so heinous a crime," he said.

"Truly a despairing fact, Your Honor," a deep voice cut across the courtroom, "the culture of this nation's youth is a sad sight to behold at times. Far have we strayed from the glorious days of our heritage, when our world was held together by pillars of polite society like King Marth."

Robin grimaced as he saw Lloyd Reed standing across from him, eyes shut and arms folded.

"Truer words were scarcely ever said," concurred the judge.

"In the vein of despairing youths," the prosecutor continued, "Mr. LeBlanc, I'm surprised to see you again so soon. It seems the rank of villainy never wafts far from your nose."

"O-Objection!" Robin shouted, "I ask the prosecution to refrain from making personal attacks regarding my nose and the sort of wafts it experiences."

"Noted, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "Mr. Reed, I assume your presence here today means you have a concise opening statement prepared for the court."

"Indeed," Lloyd Reed bowed his head just slightly, "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, you look upon a young lady who is charged with two great crimes, one belying the other: this young woman, Morgan Cassidy, stands accused of murder, the deprivation of a similarly-aged boy of his very life. What's more, however, is that this Ms. Cassidy has sunken so low as to murder not any man, not someone who wronged her ages ago and upon whom she swore vengeance, but upon one of her own friends. Yes, a young man who thought he could confide in and be comfortable around the young lady you now look upon, that is who she chose to kill. The prosecution hopes that the defendant is aware that it is said that traitors are banished to the lowest circle of hell."

Morgan's face squeezed, her cheeks and eyes going tense.

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Y-Your Honor, surely it's out of line for the prosecution to threaten the defendant in their opening statement…?"

"Oh, do be quiet," Lloyd growled, "forgive me if the prose of my argument was a bit… colorful, but these are the things a proper advocate of the law must be prepared to do in order to get the jury into the proper mindset, Mr. LeBlanc. Now, if you're done whining, I'd like to bring Detective Fletcher to the stand to explain the results of the prosecution's investigation."

The judge nodded, "That seems reasonable, unless you had any other objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not at this time, Your Honor," Robin's head sank.

"Very well," the judge banged his gavel, "Detective Fletcher, would you please present yourself?"

In a few moments, the detective stood before them. "Howdy," he waved to Robin before acknowledging Lloyd.

"Detective, we already know your name and profession, so why don't we just skip to the interesting bit: Tell us, what did the police find that conclusively evinces the fact that Morgan Cassidy is the murderer of Ewan Allen?"

The detective ran his hands through his hair and sighed, "Okay, so it's like this: Morgan Cassidy and Ewan Allen both entered the nightclub 'Club Les Chevaliers' on the night of October 17th to attend a performance by their mutual friend, Inigo Morales, and the rest of his dance troupe. During a break in the competition, right around 10 pm, Ewan Allen went to use the restroom. He never left it. According to the statements of Morgan Cassidy and her other friends who also attended the performance with her, Ms. Cassidy also left to use the bathroom not long after. It took about thirty minutes for the body to be discovered, and Ms. Cassidy was found near the entrance when a crowd started to gather. The police suspect Ms. Cassidy on the basis of considerable physical evidence, in addition to her suspicious timing: Ms. Cassidy had the victim's blood dried into spots on the front of her clothing, and there was a jacket found in the trash near the restroom that sported similar bloodstains, as well as a photograph of Ms. Cassidy's entire circle of friends. There were also some reddish-orange stains in the sink that may have come from the victim or the killer—we're still analyzing those. Anywho, the wound is a thin slice in the front of the victim's neck, suggesting that he may have been taken by surprise from behind, which would be a likely tactic for someone of smaller stature, like Ms. Cassidy."

"Thank you, detective," Lloyd Reed still had his arms folded.

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?" offered the judge.

"I have a few more specific questions about your investigation, detective."

"Shoot."

"What weapon did the defendant allegedly use to commit the murder?"

"Ah, right. It was a small kitchen knife. Not much special about it, but it did have the defendant's fingerprints on the handle, and it was practically doused in the victim's blood."

"Doused? But that's odd. I thought you said the wound was just a small cut."

"Along the jugular, yeah. You have any idea how much blood can spill out when you cut someone's throat? The short answer is 'a lot.'"

"All right, well how about this: why did the defendant have blood on the front of her clothes if she killed the victim from behind?"

"The murder weapon was dripping with blood. Seems only logical some of it might've dripped onto her clothes."

"But why wouldn't she have disposed of all her clothing if she knew it had bloodstains on it?"

"Well, she got rid of the jacket, but if you're askin' me why she didn't go shirtless… Well, I can think of a couple'a good reasons. Also, the bloodstains on the shirt were small—maybe she didn't notice 'em, or she just hoped no one else would. Takin' off her shirt in public, though, I don't think was an option."

"The photograph you found in the jacket was a picture of all the defendant's friends, right?"

"'Sright."

"Was the defendant included in that photo?"

"Yup."

"So, couldn't it just as easily be evidence of any of the victim's friends, not just Morgan Cassidy?"

"Well, yeah, but that's why we have the fingerprints and the means of attack."

"Okay, speaking of those means of attack, can you be sure it was Morgan just from the way it seems the crime was committed."

"It's not an exact science, but we still have the fingerprints. It's a reasonable explanation based upon the circumstances that's supported by the incontrovertible physical evidence. You can take issue with it, but it doesn't change the fact that the defendant's fingerprints are on the murder weapon, end of story."

 _Damn, that was my last hope_ , Robin thought, _There has to be something wrong here, right? If Morgan didn't kill Ewan, then something the detective has said must not line up properly with the evidence. Detective Fletcher is right in saying that I can't fight fingerprints, so I have to stick to the flimsiest part of that explanation: the method. I don't care what the detective says, the knife shouldn't be that bloody if the kill was that quick, and there should have been more blood on the floor, too… I wonder… did anyone else see the scene that night? Ah! That's it!_

"Detective Fletcher," Robin straightened out his suit, "were you the first person to investigate the scene that night?"

"Formally, yeah," he nodded.

"What about informally?" Robin continued.

"I think the owner took a look, why?" the detective cocked an eyebrow.

"Isn't it obvious?" Robin shrugged, "If someone else investigated the scene first, it's possible for them to have planted evidence or altered the crime scene, isn't it?"

"Objection!" Lloyd Reed shouted, "That's a baseless accusation and you have no right to throw it out here."

"It's hard to tell how 'baseless' it is until I ask the owner, isn't it?" the attorney replied.

"There's no need," Lloyd growled, "it's pointless. You have no evidence to support the reason for questioning him!"

"Don't I?" Robin looked back to the detective, "Detective, is it true that you were speaking to the club's owner yesterday morning?"

"Y-Yeah," he winced.

"What were you speaking to him about?" the attorney demanded.

"W-Well, since he was the first one on the scene, I had to ask if he had seen anyone leaving, or if he had disturbed anything."

"And had he?"

"He's… under investigation."

"There!" Robin slapped his hand on his desk, "If the police suspect him of tampering with evidence, then I have every right to question him about it, specifically because that evidence is crucial to the prosecution's argument for Morgan Cassidy's guilt."

"Objection!" Lloyd cried.

"Overruled, Mr. Reed," the judge shook his head, "Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning is sound and his concern well founded. I therefore grant the defense's request and ask that the owner of the nightclub be brought forth to testify."

In a few moments, the same olive-haired man Robin had seen in the nightclub was being brought to the stand by the bailiff. He flashed a big smile at everyone in the court as he steadied himself before the judge.

"That was quick," the judge blinked.

"Yes, well," the witness rubbed the back of his neck, "As the club's owner, I had a vested interest in the trial, so I was among the gallery, as luck would have it."

"You deserted your business to watch today's trial? You're either very dedicated or incredibly irresponsible," commented Lloyd.

"Ah, my good partner Kent is watching over the club today, so don't worry yourself over it. Sain Cheval is nothing if not a consummate professional," he grinned back.

Lloyd Reed didn't seem impressed, "Very well. Name and occupation for the record?"

"As I just said, I am Sain Cheval, co-owner of Club Les Chevaliers along with Kent Clarke," he breathed an easy smile to the jury.

"Mr. Cheval," Lloyd grasped his chin, "Detective Fletcher told us you were under investigation for manipulation of the crime scene."

Sain laughed, "Most untrue, I assure you. Er, that I manipulated the crime scene. I am indeed under investigation, but I would never do something so heinous as destroy or fabricate evidence. After all, what reason would I have to do such a thing?"

"That's what we're here to find out, Mr. Cheval," Robin answered.

Lloyd took the conversation away from him, "Mr. Cheval, would you please tell the court what you saw when you arrived on the scene and what actions, if any, you took from that point."

"Certainly," the club owner smiled, "I was in my office not long before the murder, reading through expense reports, bills, maintenance necessities… Nothing of much interest, really. Feeling quite bored with that task, I decided to get up and stretch my legs, and also check on how things were going in the club. I saw that the dancers were breaking for a few minutes, and I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. I greeted a few of the patrons as the owner and asked how their evenings were going before taking a quick stop at the restroom. It was when I opened the door and took a few steps in that I saw it… The body. I was shocked, of course, to see all the blood on the floor. Honestly, I didn't even check to see if the lad was dead, I just called the police straight away and cordoned off the bathroom immediately."

"Thank you for your detailed account, Mr. Cheval," Lloyd said, leering at Robin from across his desk, "Void, I'm sure, of any untruths. I doubt there's any reason to question the words of Mr. Cheval, given the clarity he seems to show in his description, and, thus, Mr. LeBlanc's suspicions seem yet again unfounded."

Robin glared back, "I'll be the judge of that."

"No, I believe I will," coughed the judge.

"Oh, right, of course, Your Honor," Robin smiled sheepishly, "Uh, may I begin my cross-examination?"

"You may," the judge eyed him warily.

"Mr. Cheval, you said you greeted a few patrons. Did you recognize any of them?"

"Ah, I did see my dear friend Tethys there. I believe she was acting as a coach for one of the teams."

"And the sister of the deceased, as police records show," Lloyd added.

"How awful for that poor woman," the judge shook his head.

"Indeed," Robin agreed, "But… you didn't see this Tethys woman anywhere near the restrooms, did you?"

"Not at all, she was on the opposite side of the room by the time I went over there."

"So, you entered the bathroom and were surprised by the amount of blood, is that right?"

"I think any amount of blood on my floors would be troubling, yes."

"You were so troubled, in fact, that you called the police 'immediately,' to use your own words, right?"

"Yessir."

"What time do you think it was when you made that call?"

"Hm… I wasn't really looking at a clock at the moment. I'd guess around 10:15."

Robin's fingers cupped his chin.

"Well, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge called out, "Have you satisfied yourself? Or is there still something you find questionable about Mr. Cheval's remarks?

 _Something here is pretty obviously off, based on what Colm told me_ , Robin thought, _but the question is "Why?" and, moreover, "How do I prove it?" I guess the best I can do is just hit on what I know and see where it leads me._

"Mr. Cheval," Robin cleared his throat, "You say that you called the police around 10:15?"

"I believe so, yes," he smiled.

Robin shook his head, "I regret to tell you that that is impossible."

A murmur moved through the courtroom and Lloyd Reed slammed a fist on his desk, "What? Don't be so damned coy, LeBlanc: what are you trying to say?"

"If you'll recall," Robin folded his arms, "Detective Fletcher said that it took about thirty minutes for the body to be discovered, presumably because that's when the call was put in to the police. There's no reason why the detective would have said that if the police had been called fifteen minutes earlier!"

"Objection!" Lloyd growled, "You can't know that! Maybe Detective Fletcher was describing when the police discovered the body. Besides, what's your point? What do you assume happened in those fifteen minutes that's so important?"

"Well, fifteen minutes offers a lot of time to hide or plant evidence, doesn't it?" Robin leered.

"Objection," Lloyd snapped his fingers, "the defense is speculating. Without proof, this type of allegation means nothing."

"I agree with Mr. Reed, Mr. LeBlanc," announced the judge, "I was hoping that you could provide evidence to support your conclusions, rather than simply reframe your allegations. If you can't draw anything new from this testimony, I will have to conclude it at once."

 _Damn_ ¸ Robin sighed to himself, _I must be missing something. Well, if Mr. Cheval isn't telling the whole truth, there must be some detail he's not properly describing, something that doesn't fit in with everything I've heard so far. Did I hear anything that didn't fit with Colm's description of the scene? …Oh, that's right…!_ Robin LeBlanc composed himself and stared at Sain Cheval carefully, nursing the thought.

"So, what will it be, Mr. LeBlanc?" Lloyd Reed asked, tapping his finger on his arm, "Will you end this cross-examination and concede that your questions are without significance? Or will you insist on fighting on?"

"I just need to ask one more question," the attorney sighed, "Mr. Cheval, why was there so much blood on the floor?"

Sain Cheval cocked his eyebrow, along with several others in the courtroom, "Er, because the lad had been stabbed.

"I think you misunderstood my question, Mr. Cheval," Robin smiled, "I asked why was there _so much_ blood on the floor?"

Sweat began to appear above Sain's eyebrows, "I… I fear the meaning of the defense's question eludes me…"

"I feel the same," Lloyd scowled, "LeBlanc, what are you getting at? That question has been asked and answered."

"Think of it this way," Robin offered, "Recall Detective Fletcher's description: the only notable bloodstains were all over the knife, on Morgan's clothes, and on a jacket that had been thrown in the trash. The amount of blood on the floor that came from the wound was negligible, at least, according to the detective's testimony."

"Ah!" Lloyd grit his teeth, "You mean to say…"

"But Mr. Cheval said he was shocked by the amount of blood he saw… If the scene was as the detective described, that amount would have been almost nothing!"

"O-Objection!" Lloyd stammered, "You don't know the state of the scene at the time, or how Mr. Cheval observed it… you… you're grasping at straws!"

"If the scene was any different between when Mr. Cheval and Detective Fletcher observed it, the court deserves to know. And there's no way to misinterpret the difference between their two testimonies." Suddenly, the attorney whipped his head up to Sain, "Mr. Cheval, this is your last chance, tell the court about what you know! If you say it now, the law may be kinder to you, but if it's discovered that you lied to a court to cover up your involvement, well… I know firsthand that prosecutors won't take that kindly."

Sain's pupils contracted to a tenth of their size and his lips quivered as he stared back at the attorney.

"Don't threaten the witness, you cur!" Lloyd roared.

The judge rapped his gavel a few times, "Order, order! There will be no such outbursts in my courtroom!"

This command was scarcely heard as murmurs and whispers escaped the lips of everyone in the gallery, all of them leering down at Sain Cheval. The olive-haired man looked around the room, rubbing his neck and feeling the pressure of their stares, and then his gaze fixed on one particular person: he saw the defendant, the sweet, brown-eyed little girl, sitting and looking forlorn at the handcuffs bound around her wrists. With a tickle in his throat and closed eyes, Sain lifted his head, "A-All right… I admit… I… did it."

The murmur in the courtroom quickly fell silent and all eyes looked to Sain.

He looked back up at them with tears at the corners of his eyes, "I… I did it, okay? I… I cleaned up the blooooooooooooooood!"

The entire court was taken aback by the shout, but Robin was prepared to seize upon the confession, "S-So… Mr. Cheval, you admit that you cleaned up the victim's blood before the police arrived?"

"Yes," he sighed, "I… I know it seems ridiculous now, but, when I saw it, all I could think of was how messy the floors looked, and so I just… I busied myself tidying it up… I don't really know what I was thinking."

Colm Fletcher stood up, "You lyin' sack of crap! What else've you been hiding, huh? I knew you stunk from the moment I saw you! Did you frame this little girl?!"

"N-No, please, you have to believe, I didn't want anything like that," the witness begged.

"Hard to believe, given where you now stand," Lloyd Reed folded his arms, "Well, you must be overjoyed, Mr. LeBlanc. I assume you intend to indict Mr. Cheval, in which case, well… to put it bluntly, the prosecution would not disagree."

"No," Robin shook his head.

Gasps and disbelieving remarks shook out through the gallery. Lloyd stared his opponent down, "What? But you have every excuse to accuse him now… Isn't that what you want? I'll be frank, Mr. LeBlanc, your odds of successfully defending this girl look quite good if you simply let this be the end of the trial."

"It's not just about defending Morgan," Robin went on, "I'm looking to find who's really responsible, and to have them face justice. I'm not convinced Sain Cheval had anything to do with the crime itself; he had no relation to the victim or defendant and he offers an alibi that can be verified by others in the building, since he introduced himself as the club's owner."

"But then why do you imagine he cleaned up that blood?" Lloyd continued.

"Simple: I believe Mr. Cheval has been telling the truth, with the exception of his omitting the part about cleaning the blood. He was shocked when he saw all the blood on the floor, and so he acted irrationally, trying to clean it up, as if it might make a difference. When he'd gotten past the initial shock and came to his senses, he did the proper thing and called the police while blocking up the restroom," the attorney summarized. Sain mouthed a "thank you" from the witness stand.

Lloyd was still watching the opposing counsel closely, but he took a step back from his desk, sighing, "Very well, it's not up to me to counsel you. If Mr. LeBlanc does not wish to indict Mr. Cheval, then the prosecution sees no further need for questioning of this witness. His crime is clear, and he will be tried appropriately at a later date, but the prosecution is of the opinion that the witness's interference with the crime scene does not sufficiently discredit the prosecution's precise and thorough investigation, as the mere fact of it fails to evince any innocence on the part of the defendant. For now, the prosecution would like to continue the trial by bringing forth its next witness."

The judge nodded, "Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"W-Well," Robin coughed, "Um, the fact that the detective's conclusion about the blood was incorrect means that the police and therefore the prosecution have less of a reason to suspect Ms. Cassidy, isn't that right?"

Lloyd Reed laughed, "Not quite, Mr. LeBlanc. I thank you for outing Mr. Cheval for his meddling, but the prosecution has much stronger evidence to present in the form of motive. A very strong motive at that."

"Then please proceed, Mr. Reed."

"Thank you, Your Honor. If it pleases the court, the prosecution has four additional witnesses prepared, though their statements and contribution to the investigation vary in significance."

Robin swallowed, _Did he say four? I don't like the sound of that._

"They are all friends of the victim and defendant, Your Honor. And the one who I am about to call will provide for the court the reason for the altercation between the defendant and victim. Will Ms. Nino Cooper please come forward?"

In a few moments, the emerald-haired high school graduate was led to the stand. From there, she looked quite a bit like Morgan, with youthful eyes and pale, smiling lips. She was dressed slightly more professionally, sporting a lavender t-shirt and some purple pants that were neatly pressed and fit her exactly, as well as a violet hairband that kept her green locks in neat curls behind her ears.

"Name and occupation for the record?" Lloyd asked, whipping out a small pair of eyeglasses and looking down at a paper in his hand.

"Nino Cooper. Uh, I was a student until I graduated, so… I guess I'm unemployed."

"Thank you, Ms. Cooper," the prosecutor adjusted his glasses, "Do you know or are you at all familiar with the defendant, Ms. Morgan Cassidy?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Morgan has been one of my friends since grade school."

"I see. Do you also know the victim?"

"Yes, I was introduced to him through Morgan."

"They were friends as well?"

"Right."

Robin watched the prosecutor, _This isn't good. Whenever Lloyd gets into these long-winded, specific question-and-answer directs, it always leads to something particularly upsetting._

"Were you in attendance at the dance competition at the Les Chevaliers night club on the night of October 17th?" Lloyd went on.

"I was."

"Was anyone else with you?"

"Yes, all of my friends were there: Morgan, Ewan, Ross, Cath, and Inigo, who was performing."

"And did you hear about the crime that occurred that night?"

"Of course."

"Did you become suspicious of anyone when you heard that news?"

"I did. I suspected Morgan."

"And why would that be?"

"Well, prior to our attendance at the dance competition, Morgan and Ewan had been involved in a fight."

"A fight? What sort of fight do you mean?"

"There was an incident where Morgan assaulted Ewan a few days prior to the murder."

The court stirred with yet more whispers, and Robin looked over at Morgan, whose face was growing pale as she shrank in her chair. "Objection!" the attorney shouted, "The defendant can't be convicted on the basis of a prior bad act."

"Objection," Lloyd shook his head, "the prosecution isn't asserting that the assault led to the murder of Ewan Allen, we merely posit that the defendant and victim had a history of hostility toward one another shortly before the murder occurred. Now, Ms. Cooper, do you know what this fight was about?"

"Yes, Ewan was angry at Morgan for spreading some… unfortunate rumors about Ewan."

"Unfortunate? Well, they must have been quite bad if there was an altercation. Can you tell us what these rumors were, specifically?"

Nino paused and bit her lip.

"It's all right, dear. It's all in the name of the law at this point. Everyone in this court knows it's nothing more than a silly rumor, but it's important to give the court context."

"Well… apparently, Morgan had been going around telling others that Ewan was gay."

"I see. Yes, I could see how such an insidious rumor might be very ruinous and upsetting for an adolescent such as the victim. And how do you know all this?"

"Ewan came to me for help first when he heard about the rumors. I suggested he talk to Morgan about it."

"And were you present when he did so?"

"Yes, that's how I knew about the assault, since Morgan was never charged. I managed to calm them both down before the fight escalated."

"And, to the best of your knowledge, a satisfactory resolution for these two, Morgan and Ewan, was never reached on the subject of these rumors prior to the night of the murder?"

"That's right."

"Thank you, Ms. Cooper," Lloyd smiled. Heads began to turn in the court, and Robin looked again to Morgan, who was lowering her head. He could see her eyes were turning red and wet, and her scarlet hair was bobbing as her shoulders heaved.

Creasing his eyebrows, the attorney thought to say something, "M-Morgan? Are you… going to be okay?"

Her teary eyes looked up, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, I just… uh…" she coughed and wiped her face, "I feel… I never got to… It just reminded me…"

Robin put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "I… understand. You don't need to say anything more. Just try to take deep breaths."

"Well," Lloyd stretched out his arm and bowed his head to the judge, "There you have it, Your Honor. Clear and present evidence of motive, in conjunction with as-of-yet-not-disproved physical evidence… It is without question that the only logical solution to the puzzle with which we have been presented is that Morgan Cassidy is the murderer."

The judge cleared his throat and thoughtfully stroked his beard, then added a quick rub to his glimmering pate before continuing, "I agree that the witness's explanation would seem to further implicate the defendant, despite some of the questions raised by the defense. Mr. LeBlanc, are you prepared to cross-examine the witness?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the attorney nodded, his arm still around Morgan.

The judge noticed the gesture and his eyes led up to Morgan's reddened face: "Is the defendant all right, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"She was… upset by the witness's testimony, Your Honor. Reminded of the friend she lost." Robin made sure to look at the jury.

Lloyd sneered, "The courtroom is no place for sobbing children. If she can't control herself, perhaps we should excuse the defendant and have her return to her holding cell."

Robin LeBlanc turned to face Morgan, dropping his voice to just above the threshold of audibility: "If this is too much for you, Morgan, I can ask them to have you wait in another room with Eirika—er, your mother. It's no problem."

"N-No," she wiped her eyes, "I… I have to be here for this. I have to know what they're saying about me."

 _Poor girl_ , Robin frowned, _and still, she's facing these accusations head-on, even at her age… I can't let her down_.

"Mr. LeBlanc," the judge called, "is the defense considering the prosecution's proposal?"

"That won't be necessary," Robin protested, "She's just having a moment, Your Honor. Anyone would be upset hearing about their friend in such a way, hearing themselves implicated. It's important that the defendant is present to hear the case against her."

"Very good," said the judge, "Then, please, begin your cross-examination."

"With pleasure, Your Honor," Robin made a conscious effort to sharpen his eyes on the girl behind the stand. "Ms. Cooper," he declared loudly, "You were very quick to condemn Ms. Cassidy. Why is that? You were such close friends, according to your own statements."

"Morgan and I were—are close, but… I'm sorry, Morgie, but when it turned out that Ewan had been killed, knowing what I knew… how could I possibly keep quiet? It was really the only explanation."

"The only explanation? Ms. Cooper, were you presented with any of the evidence gathered by the investigation team?"

"Not before today's trial, no."

"So what made you so sure it could only have been Morgan, and not anyone else in the club?"

Nino's eyes widened, and she swallowed, "W-Well… I mean, I guess it wasn't the _only_ possible explanation, but, like I said, how could I keep quiet about what I knew when the police were asking about Ewan having enemies?"

"The defense's point of argument is trivial," Lloyd added, "The girl did the right thing in telling the police about the assault, after having made a perfectly reasonable deduction in her head. I suggest we move on."

"I agree," the judge nodded, "unless you've got some compelling evidence to change our minds, Mr. LeBlanc."

The attorney sighed, "Not at this time, Your Honor. Now, Ms. Cooper, you say you witnessed my client assaulting the victim some time prior to the murder?"

"That's right."

"Why were you present for that?"

"Ewan asked me to come along when he confronted Morgan. Ewan's smart, but… he's not the strongest or most confident guy. He wanted me as backup, basically, probably on account of my great taijutsu skills!" The court watched the witness strike a fighting pose, accompanied by an incomprehensible shout.

The judge banged his gavel, "There will be no martial arts displays in this courtroom, thank you."

"Yes, Your Honor," Nino shuffled back to the stand.

"So, Ewan needed you for protection," Robin continued, "You didn't do a very good job, seeing as how he was apparently attacked regardless."

"Hey, screw you," Nino growled, "I was _trying_ to stop the fight. You're really going to blame me because she got one punch in?"

"Indeed," Lloyd compounded, "I fail to see how the witness's success as a bodyguard is relevant to the matter at hand."

"Fine, one more question," Robin tugged at his collar, "You said Ewan and Morgan never resolved their argument, right? So why did they agree to attend the concert together?"

"They weren't going for the sake of being with one another, they were going for Inigo's sake. I'm pretty sure they avoided each other the whole night."

"Th-That's not true," Morgan protested.

"Come again?" Lloyd put his hand on his desk and leered at the defendant.

"What she just said…" the girl repeated, "It isn't true. Ewan and I… we agreed before that night to be there as friends. We never made up for the argument, but… we promised we'd be kind to each other. It was going to be our last night together as friends."

"Well, it's your word against hers," Lloyd dismissed, "I'd advise we continue the trial."

"What do you mean your 'last night together as friends,' Morgan?" Robin looked to his side.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Since we'd all graduated, we went to Inigo's performance as a sort of last hurrah for our group of friends, since we'd all be going our separate ways before long."

 _Hm. I don't recall hearing that before. So, this was their way of saying goodbye to one another, huh? Well, it looks like somebody had a mind to make that goodbye a little more permanent_ , the attorney thought, cupping his chin.

"If the defendant is done interrupting, I'd like us to return to the cross-examination," Lloyd folded his arms.

The judge nodded, "I do apologize, but unless there's a substantial point to be made here, I must insist that we proceed with the trial."

Robin placed his hands on his desk. He stayed silent for a moment, staring blankly at the girl on the witness stand, then glancing over at his opposing counsel, who, on the other hand, was trying his best to appear not to be looking back at Robin, although Robin could feel the prosecutor's eyes slowly trying to read his face. The attorney also looked down at Morgan, who returned his gaze expectantly, her eyes gradually drying. Robin sighed to himself, _Oh, no. I can't think of anything to say… Nothing to say… Agh! No! No, not again! Tell me this isn't happening again!_

" _Mr. LeBlanc, was it? It's time for you to speak up."_

"What's the matter?" Lloyd spoke up, "Have you finally gotten it through your head? Without any evidence in your favor, this case is lost. All of the physical evidence points to her and she has a perfect motive. Just accept it, LeBlanc. You've lost. Now, end this pointless cross-examination and go out with some dignity, will you?"

" _There's… the evidence… the evidence is…"_

"I…" Robin could feel sweat staining his collar, "I just need more time…"

" _You have no co-counsel, Mr. LeBlanc. You must do this yourself. Look upon the evidence and tell the court what you know."_

"More time?" Lloyd Reed scoffed, "There is no more time. This is the trial, and if you aren't adequately prepared for it, you have to live with the burden of your failure."

" _I…"_

Robin took a step back, still silent. Morgan looked back at him.

" _Well? Mr. LeBlanc, does the defense have any new evidence to present?"_

"I do commend you for your work thus far. Really, you bested me once and thoroughly humiliated me in so doing, but luck can only get you so far. End this tiresome charade and no one will blame you for all that you have accomplished thus far."

" _The defense… the defense…"_

Robin stepped back again, his jaw tensing. Morgan was even more concerned, "Mr. LeBlanc? Are you… feeling okay?"

_Dammit! My muscles are freezing up. My mouth won't open. It's just like before! Why… why is this happening now? Why, when I've been fine for so long… Why am I afraid now? Just say something, anything! Shout "Objection!" at the top of your lungs! Anything to make this stop!_

Robin's eyes were widened and strained by apparent fear. Both of his hands shook and tried to clench into fists. People in the gallery who were previously distracted started to cast gazes toward the young man.

_They're all staring! It's making it so much worse! But… why? I thought I was past this! I haven't been scared like this since… since Mr. Verlaine…_

"Mr. LeBlanc?" The judge's eyes opened wide as he leaned forward over his bench, "Is something wrong? There's no need to be so upset, this is all a very normal part of the trial."

_No evidence. No leads. No help. I've got nothing. I… what do I do? What do I say?_

Lloyd Reed slammed his hands on his desk, "Mr. LeBlanc! I understand your devastation, but do show a little composure. This is still a court of law we're in."

_The other trials… I got through them, so why now? I… I can't breathe._

A pale-faced Robin LeBlanc tottered backward before collapsing to the floor. A fury of voices ripped through the courtroom as the judge hammered his gavel rapidly and loudly, trying simultaneously to quiet the crowd and summon help for the fallen attorney. Lloyd Reed stared at the unconscious heap scrupulously for a minute, and when a resident doctor arrived, he stepped out.

The court was forced into recess.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial Day 1 Former-End]


	10. Turnabout of a Kind: Day 1 Trial Latter

[October 19th, 12:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin woke up and shouted, throwing his hands forward like he had breached the surface of an infinite sea.

"Whoa! Easy, big fella," he felt Anna holding his chest down.

"Anna…?" he muttered sleepily, "I… The trial! What happened to the trial?!"

"It's fine," Anna kept the pressure applied to his midsection, "The judge suspended the trial when you keeled over. Doctors say you're okay, but you're luck you didn't hit your head on anything too solid. Not that there was much worth saving up there to begin with."

"I can't believe," he rasped, his mouth feeling full of cotton, "I didn't think…"

"Neither did I," the redhead frowned at him, "I mean, I always had it in the back of my mind, but when the first two trials came and went, I thought things had changed."

The attorney looked down, "So did I. I guess they haven't."

Anna noticed the remark and grabbed his shoulder, "Hey, c'mon now! A little fainting spell is no excuse to let yourself sputter out. You've still got a little girl and her mom—who, I might add, is your former employer's daughter—out there to help."

"I know, but," he paused again, "I just don't know what more to do. I felt so useless in that moment, and then, all of a sudden… everything came back. I haven't progressed so much as a day."

"Robin, enough. It happened. The best thing you can do is get back on your feet—carefully—and finish this trial," the redhead sighed, "Plus, I'm gonna feel like crap until I see you up and at 'em again, so…"

At once, the door to the defendant lobby opened, and a young man with glasses stepped in and looked Robin over. Behind him, Morgan and Eirika also walked up to the attorney. Morgan hurried to place herself directly at his side, opposite Anna, "Mr. LeBlanc! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he groaned, "I'm just sorry you had to see that, Morgan. I'm supposed to be taking care of your defense, standing tall up there, and you had to watch me collapse, speechless. I'll understand if your confidence in me is more than a little shaken by now."

"I wouldn't say that," she shook her head, "I'm just confused. What happened?"

"I… to be honest, I got scared. It's happened to me before, but it varies in severity. I haven't had an attack like that since…" the attorney paused and saw Eirika Verlaine in his periphery, "…In a very long time. Long enough that I thought I was over it. I was just panicked in the moment, and my body wouldn't listen to me. Ms. Verlaine, I'll understand if you want me off your daughter's defense."

"Do you think that's what my father would say?"

"What? No, but I'm not Fado Verlaine, I'm just—"

"Just the partner to whom he bequeathed everything?"

"Partner… I don't think that's the right term."

"Well, whatever you want to call it, my dad clearly thought there was something to you. Do you want to be the one to prove him wrong, in front of his own daughter, no less?"

"Of course not, but—"

"'But' nothing! Get up and get back to it, then."

"That's what I was saying," Anna folded her arms.

Robin sighed, _They don't understand. I appreciate their help, but it's not so simple. This shadow that's followed me all my life… What happens when my confidence breaks down again? When the words don't come out and the judge isn't feeling so lenient? I couldn't bear to fail anyone like that._

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head back to the girl at his bedside, "I've seen you in your other trials. You think so clearly about things… maybe you should just stop worrying about the trial and think about the problem. Once you think it through, then I know that you can solve this!" At this thought, the girl smiled and pumped her fists.

 _Not bad advice, honestly_. _And she's the one I'm supposed to be helping. Argh! I can't stand being so useless! Even if it kills me, I have to get back in there, to help her!_ Robin acknowledged. "Hm. Thanks, Morgan. I guess if I'm going to go down in this trial, I had better go down swinging." The attorney sat up on the sofa and slowly lifted himself to his feet.

The bailiff trotted over, "Is Mr. LeBlanc prepared to continue the trial?"

The doctor who had walked in nodded both at Robin and the bailiff. Robin also nodded, "I'm ready." _Thanks to a few good pep talks._

"Very good," said the bailiff, "I'll inform His Honor and the trial will reconvene shortly."

"Thank you," Robin saw him off, "And thank all of you, too. Ms. Verlaine, Morgan, I still have a lot of doubts, but if you place your trust in me, I suppose I simply can't let you down. And Anna…"

She looked up, twiddling her fingers inconspicuously.

"I really appreciate you coming down here."

"Are you kidding? I heard you had keeled over and I rushed right into—uh, I mean… I couldn't very well leave you all by your lonesome like that, could I?"

"I guess not," he smiled, "still, thanks."

"Sure."

"I doubt Prosecutor Reed is going to be kind," Eirika noted, "Do you think you're ready to face that again?"

"I do. I've got a new strategy, after all," he nodded.

"What's that?" Eirika cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm going to follow someone's good advice," the attorney faced the door.

[October 19th, 12:18 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The members of the gallery and jury trickled in noisily until the judge rapped his gavel on his bench a few times calling for order. When the noise filtered out, the judge eyed the young attorney before him, "Court will now reconvene for the trial of Morgan Cassidy. Mr. LeBlanc, I'm told you had medical attention following your fainting spell."

"Yes, Your Honor," he nodded as confidently as he could force himself to appear, "I apologize to the court for that disturbance—I have an unfortunate history of succumbing to fainting spells."

"I see," the judge surmised, stroking his long beard thoughtfully, "I'm sorry to hear that. I would hope that it doesn't happen again."

"It won't, Your Honor," Robin shook his head, "I was panicked for a moment, but my head is clear now. I'll have no further difficulty completing this trial, and I thank Your Honor for extending me the courtesy of having the opportunity."

The judge smiled, "I think you will go quite far with that attitude, Mr. LeBlanc. Quite far. Now, I believe you were in the middle of a cross-examination…?"

"He was at the end of one," Lloyd Reed corrected the judge, "I find your 'sudden' fainting spell quite convenient, Mr. LeBlanc."

"You can attack me all you want, Mr. Reed," Robin replied, "the issue at hand is the guilt or innocence of Ms. Cassidy."

"And am I to assume that you've magically found some new evidence with which to present the court that assures the defendant's innocence?"

"Not exactly. I don't have new evidence to present, but I have been given a long period of time to consider the evidence presented thus far, and I'm struck by something interesting."

Lloyd smiled, "Oh, now this is rich. Please, do tell."

Robin folded his arms, "Let's consider what we know. The murder occurred on an evening wherein Morgan Cassidy and all of her friends would be attending a performance featuring Inigo Morales, another friend. They all knew each of them was going to be present. Next, the victim was a member of the circle of friends. Thirdly, entered into evidence was not one but two student-issued jackets with the victim's blood on them. Fourth, one of the jackets, the one not worn by the defendant, was thrown in the trash and contained a photograph of all the friends together. Fifth, the crime was committed at a time when all of the friends' eyes would be drawn to the stage—whoever committed the murder knew that. Lastly, the prosecution suspects Morgan Cassidy because she was in this circle of friends, she had the victim's blood on her jacket, she is of an appropriate stature for the method by which the wound was inflicted, and the fact that her fingerprints are on the murder weapon, a kitchen knife."

Lloyd rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you for that very valuable recap. Do you have anything to add, Mr. LeBlanc?"

He bent his head and smiled, "Of course I do. During the course of this trial, it was shown that the blood at the crime scene had been altered, calling into question the validity of the prosecution's deductions about the method of attack. Also, it was noted that the knife was of common make. It could have come from anywhere."

"Meaning what, Mr. LeBlanc?" Prosecutor Reed glared at him.

"Meaning that even if Morgan touched the knife, it didn't necessarily belong to her, or vice versa."

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Don't be dense! It doesn't matter who the blade belonged to, just that it was responsible for killing the victim."

"Detective Fletcher," Robin called, "I know you're in the room. Were any other prints found on the blade?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted, "a whole bunch, actually. But the defendant's were the easiest to identify because they were the newest."

"But that would only prove that she was the last one to touch the knife, right?" Robin pressed.

"Objection!" Lloyd called again, "This is irrelevant! There's no evidence contradicting the claim that the defendant touched the blade and used it to kill the victim. Whether anyone touched it before her is trivial."

"This also leaves a hole in the prosecution's story: if the defendant didn't own the knife, where did she get it from?" Robin added.

"We're investigating that," Colm talked around his cigarette, "Coulda come from a store."

"But, in that case," Robin noted, "wouldn't it be just as likely that she had touched the knife while shopping but not bought it? If the prosecution doesn't know where the weapon came from, how can they be so sure the defendant had access to it?"

Lloyd slapped his desk, "Because of the fingerprints, you fool! Stop being so… foolish!"

"How do you know those fingerprints weren't planted?!" Robin barked back.

"Occam's Razor, that's how!" Lloyd shouted, "If they were planted, show the court some evidence as such!"

Robin smirked, "As you wish."

Lloyd Reed's eyes shifted, "What?"

"As I said, there were two jackets stained with blood at the scene. One of them was thrown away. Why would that be?" the attorney asked.

"The defendant wanted to conceal the evidence, of course," answered the prosecutor.

Robin shook his head, "That doesn't make a shred of sense. If the killer wanted to get rid of the evidence, why didn't he or she move the body, or clean up the blood, or do anything logical? If the killer wanted to hide evidence, throwing a jacket in the trash is the worst possible thing he or she could have done!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "We don't have to assume that the criminal is intelligent, Mr. LeBlanc!"

"No," he agreed, "but there's another reason the prosecution's claim is false."

"And what's that?"

"The prosecution has been making a fundamentally incorrect assumption about this particular piece of evidence since the beginning of the trial. The jacket in question could not have belonged to Ewan Allen!"

"W-What?! How do you figure?!"

"If you recall Detective Fletcher's testimony, you'll remember that he described the jacket as having 'similar bloodstains' to those on the jacket Morgan was wearing when she was arrested. Looking at this other jacket, the stains are similar in size and placement, but this contradicts the prosecution's version of events: if Ewan Allen was the one wearing this jacket when he was killed, there should be much more blood on it!"

"Argh!" Lloyd punched his desk.

"B-But," the judge stammered, "Mr. LeBlanc, what is the meaning of this? If the victim was not the one who wore this bloodstained jacket, then who was?"

"Simple, Your Honor: the person who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Objection! I won't abide your stupid conjecture, LeBlanc! How can you claim that in the face of all the other evidence, like the fingerprints on the weapon?"

"Still hung up on that? What if the murderer was wearing gloves?"

"Then where are those gloves? Why weren't traces of latex or rubber found on the weapon? You haven't got any real evidence!"

Robin grimaced, _Damn. He's right in that regard. I just don't have the physical evidence to counter him, whatever I say. I'll never get very far as long as those fingerprints are on that weapon, taunting me!_

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head quickly as he heard a voice beside him. Morgan was staring back at him, "Um, just a thought, but… you'll never get very far so long as Mr. Reed can bring things back to those fingerprints. Maybe you should think about things differently. Like, instead of trying to disprove why the prints were there, maybe you could prove that something is missing prints? I never went into the men's room, so I couldn't have picked up that knife… surely there's something else the killer must have touched, right?"

Robin's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Morgan, you're a genius!"

The judge eyed him warily, "Mr. LeBlanc, I want no such outbursts in my court. Now, have you got evidence or not?"

"W-Well," Robin replied sheepishly, "my evidence is… er, the lack of evidence, so to speak."

"Talk sense," Prosecutor Reed demanded.

"Well, if we take the prosecution's theory that Morgan Cassidy's prints are on the murder weapon because she killed the victim, then her prints should also be on the door handle of the men's room!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Many people's prints could be on that handle. It'd be impossible to know if the defendant had touched it or not."

"Objection!" Robin smirked, "That's what I said when I mentioned that the knife was of common make, but you claimed that Morgan had to have touched it during the murder because her prints were the most prominent, and, therefore, the most recent. If we follow that logic for the door handle, only one other person's fingerprints should be more recent on the handle: those of Sain Cheval! Mr. Cheval was the only other person to enter the men's room, prior to it being closed off until the police investigation, wherein all of the investigating officers would have been wearing gloves when handling part of the scene. If Morgan's prints can be found on the knife, they should be found just as easily on the door handle!"

Lloyd Reed growled and beat his desk some more.

The judge cleared his throat, "Erm, since it seems Prosecutor Reed is in a bit of distress at the moment… Detective Fletcher, did the investigative team recover any samples of the defendant's fingerprints on the handle to the door to the men's restroom?"

"No, Your Honor," the cobalt-haired detective answered, "We found traces from a lot of folks, the owner included, but there are no prints on the handle that can be identified as belonging to Morgan Cassidy."

"This is preposterous!" Prosecutor Reed snarled, "Detective! You and your team are going to be receiving quite the lecture after this!"

Colm glanced aside at Robin, "Thanks a lot, lawyer-boy."

 _You say that like it's my fault,_ Robin sighed to himself.

"You did it, Mr. LeBlanc," Morgan smiled, "You turned everything on its head again! I don't know how you manage to pull off stuff like that."

"It was all thanks to you, Morgan," he nodded, "if you hadn't made that point about looking for what wasn't there, we'd have been up a creek for sure." She giggled proudly.

The judge rapped his gavel against the bench, "This is a very interesting fact that you have brought to light for us, Mr. LeBlanc, but tell us, what does this mean? If the defendant's prints were not on the door handle, but they were on the murder weapon, what can we conclude?"

"It's as I said earlier, Your Honor: the defendant's prints must have been planted on the weapon."

"If that is what you continue to assert," Lloyd crossed his arms, his eyes now shut tight with fury, "Then the next logical question is 'how?'"

"You mean 'How did the defendant's prints get planted on the murder weapon?'"

"That's right. If you're so confident that that's what happened, then surely you know how it was done."

 _Argh,_ Robin sighed, _here I was thinking I'd finally made some headway, but what can I say here? I have no idea how the prints were planted_. "Morgan," he turned his head, "do you remember touching a knife like the murder weapon any time in the recent past? Within a few days, say?"

She tapped her index finger on her chin, "I don't know… it looks like the knives my mom keeps in her kitchen, so… uh, maybe?"

 _No help there._ _Well, if Morgan doesn't remember putting her prints on the weapon, could it be that the prints were planted without her knowledge? But then, how could that be? Someone would have to…Ah!_ Robin slapped his hands on his desk, "Your Honor, I think I may have an explanation. See, we've gone through this whole trial assuming that Morgan had to have been the killer because she was the only one of her friends who fit the bill, but what if that's only because that's the way the killer wanted it to seem?"

"Get to the point," Lloyd barked.

"What if one of the defendant's friends had taken a sample of her fingerprints at some point, in anticipation of committing this very crime?"

"Hah!" the prosecutor scoffed, "What a ridiculous notion! Can I safely assume that that little hypothesis of yours has no proof behind it?"

"B-But…! It's the only possible solution!"

"Objection! Lots of things are possible, Mr. LeBlanc. That's why we have courts of law to decide what happened based on evidence. Right now, my explanation of events still accounts for all of the circumstantial evidence, meaning that while your explanation is 'possible,' it's simply not plausible. If you have no evidence to substantiate your claims, Mr. LeBlanc, then it's time to bow out and concede to those of us in this court who know what we're talking about."

"Objection! Then how do _you_ suppose Ms. Cassidy's prints got on the knife but not the door handle?"

The prosecutor shrugged, smirking, "The prints were on the door handle at one point, but they were smudged or wiped off. It's really quite simple to explain."

"But they couldn't be smudged—only Mr. Cheval touched the handle after the murder, by all accounts."

"So then they were wiped off, as I said."

"Then who do you imagine did the wiping?"

Lloyd Reed grimaced, "Ah."

The judge cleared his throat, "Mr. LeBlanc, would you be so kind as to explain what you and Prosecutor Reed are deliberating? I feel I've lost you."

"It's simple," Robin nodded, "the prosecution's version of events relies on Lloyd's argument that Morgan's prints were on the handle, but were removed. If that's the case, then someone else had to have removed the prints, but, if that's the case, then who could have done it, and how? No one entered the restroom following the discovery of the body, and we know that it was Mr. Cheval who made that discovery, because no one else called the police or reported finding a body in the restroom."

"So, if I follow you," the judge stroked his beard, "the only person it would seem logical to assume was responsible for wiping the defendant's prints is…"

Robin nodded, "Sain Cheval."

Lloyd clenched his fist, "That dunderheaded oaf! I'll get the health inspector to shut his club down and see that he never works in this town again!"

"Mr. Reed," the judge looked down, "please, cease muttering to yourself and summon Mr. Cheval, if you would."

"As Your Honor wishes," the prosecutor frowned, stepping out of the courtroom.

The air was silent but charged as whispers flew out from members of the gallery. Robin concentrated on the door from which Lloyd had exited and continued thinking.

"Mr. LeBlanc?" He looked down at Morgan, "Do you… do you really think Mr. Cheval was the one who killed Ewan?"

"I'm not sure…" The attorney shrugged, "The fact is, our case is in dire straits without some new evidence, so the only way for me to move forward was to contradict the prosecution's claims. If we bring Mr. Cheval back, maybe we can learn something new."

Morgan's eyes fell to the ground while her fist balled up as it was held before her chin. She let out an audible "hum" as Robin noticed the door opening once more. Within a minute, Sain Cheval was back on the stand.

"Well, hello madames et messieurs!" the olive-haired man waved, "I didn't think I'd be seeing you all again so soon. What's this all about? Do you need to hear a bit more about my lovely club? I'm happy to share—no trade secrets, though, mind you. Heh heh heh!"

"Be silent, you gibbering fool!" Lloyd's glare cut the witness in half.

"Eep!"

"Mr. Cheval, due to some new evidence that has come to light, you are suspected of having tampered with yet more evidence," the judge summarized.

"Wh-What?! Don't be silly," Sain shook his head, "I mopped up the floor because I wasn't in my right mind. Why would I have messed with anything else at that scene?"

Lloyd shook his head, too, "Still, unfortunately, we cannot deny the possibility. As such, you will testify once more, you quavering insect. Tell the court about what you did after you left the scene."

"You sure know how to make a fella feel welcome, Mr. Prosecutor," Sain Cheval sighed.

"I fear the guards of the Greater Ylissean State Penitentiary are even less welcoming than I, Mr. Cheval."

"Ah! Got me there, haha!"

"Testify already, you imbecile!"

"Oop! Er, right. So… let's see… After seeing the body, I was in quite a state of shock, as I'm sure you can imagine. As you know, rationality betrayed me a bit and, after I called the police, I went in to mop up the blood spilled by the victim. I know that was wrong, but…It was an odd moment for me. I make no excuses. Once the blood was mopped up, I left the restroom and cordoned it off from the other patrons. As soon as I felt certain the room was adequately locked, I left and waited in my office for the police to arrive."

Lloyd Reed nodded, "So, as you can see, Mr. LeBlanc, the witness did not tamper with the evidence any further following his contact of the police—as he mentioned, he would have no reason to do such a thing. Therefore, your argument is moot."

"Your Honor," the attorney said, "I'd like to cross-examine the witness."

The judge nodded, "Please, do go on, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Mr. Cheval," the attorney began, "You're perfectly certain that no one else could've entered the restroom when you left?"

"Indeed. My partner Kent and I hold the only keys to the room. Once it's locked, it would take one of us to open it again."

"Incidentally," Prosecutor Reed added, "the investigation determined there were no signs that the lock had been tampered with. Besides, if someone else had tried to use the door, their fingerprints would appear alongside Mr. Cheval's."

"Mr. Cheval," Robin continued, "Out of curiosity, where was your partner at the time?"

"Hm? Ah, Kent was back at home. He works the day shift and I take nights. I always have been something of a night owl."

"Meaning," Lloyd concluded, "Mr. Cheval's key was the only one anywhere near the premises at the time of the crime."

"Did anything happen while you were waiting for the police to arrive, Mr. Cheval?" Robin asked.

"Not really… Oh, except this bit of difficulty on the stage. Apparently, one of the performers was stalling because he was trying to call someone."

"Wh-What?!" Robin blinked.

"You…!" Lloyd leered at the witness.

The judge rapped his gavel on the bench, "Mr. LeBlanc, you seem to see some import in the witness's remarks. What is so intriguing?"

"Mr. Cheval," Robin looked up gravely, "the performer you're talking about… what was his name?"

"Hm… something a bit silly, as I recall. Foreign-sounding. Like, 'Laslow Pantalones,' or something."

"Would it happen to be… Inigo Morales?"

"That's the lad!" The gallery began to increase the volume of their murmurs, leading the judge to call for order. Sain looked around, "Uh, you're all giving me some pretty harsh stares… it's a little embarrassing, to be honest. Have I said something strange?"

"This is very important, Mr. Cheval," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "Do you know who Mr. Morales was trying to contact?"

"Uh…" the young man tugged at his collar, "You're putting me a bit on the spot here, and making that intense face isn't helping."

"Answer the question, fop," Lloyd scowled at him.

"I-I think it was… Hugh? Newman? Reuben?"

"Ewan," Robin sighed.

"Right again," Sain smiled, "My, it's as if you're reading my own memories better than I, Mr. LeBlanc. How do you do it?"

"You're telling this court that Inigo Morales tried to contact the victim before continuing with his performance?" Robin folded his arms.

"Ah! So this 'Ewan' was… Oh, well, that explains your excitement. Yes, I suppose that is what I'm saying."

"Mr. LeBlanc, is this detail significant to the case at hand?" the judge wondered.

"Of course it's significant, Your Honor," Robin nodded fervently, "This information was never made known to this court. It may be a crucial lead to understanding what really happened during the time of the murder!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shook his head, "Remember, Mr. LeBlanc: Mr. Cheval testified that this took place _after_ he discovered the body. I doubt there is much worthy of discussion in Mr. Morales's attempts to call his friend when the murder had already occurred."

"Objection!" Robin protested, "But take note of what else Mr. Cheval said: Mr. Morales stalled the performance in order to call Ewan. Plus, Inigo knew that Ewan was in the building. If this call was just for the sake of friendly conversation, it could have taken place after the performance, and not over the phone. The fact that Mr. Morales tried to contact Ewan by phone suggests there was some urgent reason he needed to speak to Ewan."

"Argh!" Lloyd slammed a fist on his desk.

"It seems the defense has raised a very prominent question," the judge nodded, "the actions of this Mr. Morales are indeed strange, and I think this court deserves an explanation. Mr. Reed, would you please bring that man to the stand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor grimaced.

Morgan stared at the witness stand—not at Sain, who was being led down by the bailiff, but at the stand itself, "Mr. LeBlanc… Inigo… why would he not tell anyone about this?"

"You mean you didn't know, either?" Robin blinked.

"No, none of us knew. They told the crowd the performance was being delayed due to a malfunction with the lighting equipment. Inigo… what are you playing at?"

 _That's what I'd like to know, too. He must have some reason_ , Robin supposed.

Footsteps sounded as a young man with neatly cropped hair took to the stand, lips strained as if they weren't sure quite what expression to make. His eyes flashed with recognition when they drifted over to the defense bench. It seemed that the lips then decided, because their corners turned down.

"Witness," Lloyd commanded, "State your name and occupation for the record."

The expression on the man's face shifted back into a smile, "My name… is Inigo Morales, dancer extraordinaire! My technique and charming countenance are soon to be known to the whole world!"

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "I'm not interested in your pipe dreams, witness!"

"Ha ha!" the youth laughed, "Dreams are for those without the ability to see their goals accomplished! These are not dreams, fair prosecutor—these are my ambitions!"

"Whatever they are, they'll be cut quite short if you don't cut the chatter and start testifying."

"Intrepid Inigo's incomparable performances will never be stifled! If you were to lock me away, the ladies would surely riot!"

"Argh, just pay attention, you twit!" Lloyd growled.

 _Wow. He's even getting under Lloyd's skin. I don't remember him being this stubborn or… grandiose when I first met him. I wonder… is this some kind of stage persona?"_ Robin pinched his chin, "Er, Mr. Morales, while we all appreciate your talents, it's very important for this trial that we hear about something from you."

"Oh?" he grinned, "And, pray, what is that?"

Lloyd held a statement out in front of him and scanned it as he spoke, "Sain Cheval, the owner of the club where you performed on the night of the crime, testified that you attempted to contact the victim, Ewan Allen, during the performance. The defense seems to think you did so because there was something urgent about which you needed to speak to him."

"Ah!" the dancer nodded, "An intriguing theory, but altogether incorrect, I'm afraid. I was simply putting in a call to my dear friend to see how he was enjoying the performance."

The judge rapped his gavel, "Witness, you will testify to the court about the content of this call."

"If you insist," he shrugged, "I had just finished my first set, and I was feeling quite accomplished. The rest of my troupe, Thirty Missives to Marth, had performed admirably, and we were about ready to deliver the killing blow when I thought to call Ewan and ask how he and the others were enjoying the show. When I did call, however, I received no answer, and was quickly sent to voicemail. I didn't bother to leave a message because I assumed I'd see him soon enough, anyway. When I realized I was holding up the show, I got right back to it."

"There you have it, defense," Lloyd sighed, "No complicated plotting for unseen motivations, simply a man trying to contact his friend and losing track of time."

"Defense, you may begin your cross-examination."

Robin frowned, _It doesn't look like there's much that's factually contradictory about what Inigo just said, but I can't shake the feeling that he's holding something back. I'll just have to grill him until he lets something slip._ "So, Mr. Morales," he began, "you just decided to give Ewan a call out of the blue, even knowing that you'd speak to him later?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "I was hoping to speak with all of our friends, but he never picked up, so I had to give up on that plan."

"And you never wondered why he didn't answer?"

"It was a crowded venue, and the music and chatter were all quite loud: I assumed he didn't hear it go off."

"Why was it so important that you spoke to Ewan and the rest of your friends in the middle of your performance?"

"You're thinking about it all wrong, Mr. LeBlanc: I wasn't even considering the show, I just desperately wanted to know how my performance had looked from down there."

"You may not know it by looking at him," Morgan piped up, grabbing the attorney's attention, "but Inigo's really self-conscious. He's always looking for reassurances about his performances, especially from us."

 _But in the middle of such a big show_? Robin thought, _No, there must be some deeper explanation._ "So, you never got the impression that anything was wrong, Mr. Morales?"

He shook his head, "Why should I have? When I saw him come out of the bathroom, I figured everything must have been fine."

Robin's eyes widened, and Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk again.

Inigo blinked, "I'm sorry, have I spoken out of turn?"

"No, Mr. Morales, but…" Robin's jaw tensed, "Y-You… you say you saw the victim leaving the bathroom?"

"I believe so, why?"

Robin could feel the sweat building around his collar again, "Mr. Morales, what you're saying is…"

"Totally impossible!" Lloyd finished, "The victim was killed in the restroom during the interim of your performance. It would have been impossible for you to have seen him exiting the restroom!"

"Ah!" Inigo gasped, "During the interim…?"

The judge swung his gavel once more, "Witness, you will explain the significance of this obvious flaw in your testimony immediately!"

"O-Oh," he stuttered, "Um, let's see… It was… Um… it must have been someone else leaving the restroom, then."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "But only Ewan and his killer were in the restroom at that time, so the only person who could have been leaving is Ewan's killer!"

"Urk!" Inigo bared his teeth and frowned, "M-Mr. LeBlanc… maybe you should let this one go… it's not as important as you think."

The attorney shook his head, "Sorry, Inigo, but I'm not one to do things halfway. If there's an unexplained hitch in the story we've heard thus far, I want to be able to explain it. Now, why did you think it was Ewan leaving the bathroom?"

Inigo swallowed, "Um… well, he was wearing his school-issued jacket, like all of us and… I could see his red hair…"

Robin's eyes jumped open again and the feeling of the heat and sweat on his neck grew ever more intense, "The person you saw had… red hair?"

Everyone in the court turned their gaze to the defendant, who brushed a few of her curly ruby locks out of her face, "Uh… Well, Ewan _did_ have reddish hair… more auburn, I'd say, but…"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Ha! Thank you, Mr. Morales. For once, your testimony has proven to be most valuable. As I'm sure the rest of the court has already noticed, our defendant sports a fine set of red hair herself. If Mr. Morales's observations ring true, well then, following the defense's very own logic, only the defendant could possibly have been the killer!"

"Ack!" Robin doubled over, "W-Wait, couldn't there have been someone else with red hair near the scene?"

Lloyd crossed his arms, "Who also happened to be wearing the school-issued jacket worn by the victim's friends? Unlikely."

"Unlikely maybe," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "but not impossible—the prosecution would do well to remember that Cath Nichols, one of the victim's other friends, also has red hair!"

The prosecutor held out his hands and shook his head, "But there were no physical traces of Ms. Nichols at the scene. Not to mention, there were no bloodstains on her jacket, but there were traces on those of Ms. Cassidy."

 _Ah, right_ , Robin frowned, _Well. This isn't good._

Inigo looked displeased, too, "I asked you to let it go, Mr. LeBlanc… I knew this is how things would go if I told everyone…"

 _Me and my big mouth_ , the attorney grimaced, _but that can't be right—Morgan's prints weren't on the door handle, so she couldn't have gone in or out of the room by normal means… This whole story only makes sense if it was someone else, but how can I explain away a physical characteristic like hair color? Unless… Hm. It's a bluff, but it's just crazy enough to make sense!_

Prosecutor Reed had folded his arms again, "You're remarkably quiet, for once, defense. Have you finally realized that no matter how much you quibble, there is no denying the truth?"

"The defense…" Robin swallowed, "Would like to present a new possibility to the court."

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "Oh, enough already! What 'new possibility' could there possibly be this late into the trial?"

The judge pounded his gavel, "I share Prosecutor Reed's curiosity, Mr. LeBlanc: what is this possibility to which you are referring?"

"Something has been bothering me for a long time in this trial, since the detective's first testimony, and I think it's something that I'll finally be able to resolve. I'd like to propose," Robin glared at his opposing counsel, "that the person that Mr. Morales saw, the real killer of Ewan Allen, dyed their hair!"

Lloyd Reed assailed his desk once more, "Ridiculous! How quickly you insipid lawyers grasp at straws when the truth becomes inconvenient for you! How can you prove that the killer dyed their hair?"

"The court may recall the crime scene, as well as the detective's explanation," Robin reasoned, "Detective Fletcher mentioned that there were some as-yet undefined stains in the sink of a reddish-orange color. If these stains aren't blood, then they may be from a red hair dye!"

"Argh!" Lloyd clutched his chest, "But… that can't be! Even if the stains were there, you can't prove when they appeared on the sink—if they were stains from hair dye, it still doesn't prove that the murderer was the one who was using it! Besides, why would the murderer waste time dyeing their hair before committing the crime?"

"Why, to frame my client, of course," Robin smirked, "We've already established that the murderer had to be within the victim's circle of friends—if they had intimate knowledge of the conflict between Morgan and Ewan, then they would know that Morgan would be the best candidate on which to pin this murder!"

"Objection!" came Lloyd's rebuttal, "But what reason would any of the victim's other friends have had to kill him?"

Robin shook his head, "I can't say for sure, but we've already had one friend deliver surprise information about a fight no one else seemed to know about between the victim and defendant. Who's to say there aren't other conflicts underlying this circle of friends? And besides, even if I don't know the reason, the last person to enter the restroom before Ewan could prove whether or not those stains were present at the time. If they were, then the prosecution can't refute the possibility of what I've claimed!"

"But there were no security cameras at the club," Lloyd shook his head, "how does the defense plan to identify the last person to enter the restroom prior to the crime?"

"Aargh," Robin sighed, "He's got me there…"

"Mr. LeBlanc," he turned as Morgan chimed in once more, "Maybe now's the time to do that thing you do again."

"Y-You mean 'turn my thinking around?'"

"Right. What if, instead of trying to prove that the stains were there around the time of the murder, why not try to prove that they couldn't have been there before the murder?"

 _Girl's full of good ideas today_ , Robin smiled. "Prosecutor Reed," the attorney looked up, "up to now, the police's investigation has placed the victim at the sink, where he was surprised by the murderer, which would explain the stains they thought were blood on the sink. What does the prosecution suppose the victim was doing prior to being attacked?"

Lloyd folded his arms, "What kind of question is that? Presumably, he was washing his hands—ack!"

Robin smirked, "I see the prosecution now understands my point."

"I'm at a loss," the judge admitted, "has this resolved the discrepancy we were facing?"

Robin nodded, "If the victim washed his hands prior to being killed, then the stains found on the sink should have been washed away or diluted—there's no evidence of that, meaning that the stains could only have been made after the victim was killed!"

The gallery exploded with chatter, heads turning to each side to confirm what each was hearing. The judge was forced to slam down his gavel several times to return the silence as he called for order. "Mr. LeBlanc," the judge stroked his beard quickly, "what, exactly, does this mean for us? If the victim's murderer dyed their hair, then what does that tell us?"

Robin shut his eyes and sighed, "If the murderer used a red hair dye, we can make two conclusions: one, the killer does not have naturally red hair. And two, the killer intended to frame my client by disguising themselves. In other words, the only two people who could _not_ be guilty of this crime are Cath Nichols, and my client, Morgan Cassidy!"

The gallery burst into chatter once more, but they were all swiftly silenced by a lethally sharp shout that cut into the air, "Be silent!" Heads turned to Lloyd Reed, who was balling his fist so hard that the tension made his tendons quiver. "Mr. LeBlanc," he said the name with fangs of icy venom, "you made a mockery of me in this court once, but I won't allow it to happen again. If you won't cease your disgusting trickery yourself, then you force my hand."

"What are you talking about?" Robin stared back.

The prosecutor shook his head, "Don't tell me you've forgotten Ylisse's most important trial law, Mr. LeBlanc."

Robin paused, then flinched when he arrived at the realization. Morgan studied his face, "Mr. LeBlanc, what does he mean?"

"I mean, little whelp, that it's not enough for Mr. LeBlanc to provide evidence that seems to absolve you of the crime. In order to prove his case, Mr. LeBlanc must take up the prosecution's job and offer a detailed indictment of another party. Such is Ylissean law."

Morgan bit her lip, "Um… I don't quite, uh…"

"He means in order to have you declared not guilty, I have to pin the crime on someone else, and in this case, it can only be one of your friends," Robin looked at the floor.

Morgan gasped, "B-But, it couldn't…! I don't want my friends to…!"

"I'm sorry, Morgan, but I have no choice," he shook his head.

"So?" Lloyd Reed smiled, "Who will it be? Come, let the whole court hear who you plan to tear down in front of this little girl in order to 'save' her."

_Reed, you black-hearted devil! Argh… it's not really him, it's this damnable Ylissean law, although Lloyd is taking advantage of it by making this as difficult as possible, making me call it out in front of Morgan. There really is no other way around it, but who could I possibly pick? I already said it can't be Cath—she has natural red hair, so she would have no reason to dye it. Inigo has an alibi, since he was on-stage and calling the victim at the time of the crime—phone records can prove that. That means it's down to a fifty-fifty between Ross Hammond and Nino Cooper, but which could it be? I don't have any evidence to support going after either of them, save their hair color. What should I say?_

"Objection."

Robin looked up, as did every head in the court.

Morgan stared at the judge, then glanced at Robin and Lloyd before turning to face the judge once more, "Y-Your Honor, I… the defense is… I, that is… I know that defendants in Ylissean courts of law are given certain rights during trials, and… I would like to invoke one of those rights now… by refusing to let Mr. LeBlanc respond. From here on… I want to represent myself."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Morgan you can't do that! They'll have you declared guilty if we don't identify another party!"

"There's no need…" she stammered, "there is no other guilty party! I confess my crime! I killed Ewan Allen!"

The gallery exploded again, requiring many shouts of "Order!" before it could actually be re-established.

"So, she finally owns up," Lloyd shook his head, smirking, "Not surprising."

"W-Wait just a moment," the judge's eyes were wide, "I thought the defense determined that only someone without natural red hair could have committed the crime."

"Speculation on the defense's part," Lloyd shook his head, "unsubstantiated by further evidence. It was unlikely that someone with red hair would have committed the crime, but it's far from impossible"

"I did it, all right? I snuck into the bathroom and killed him! I killed him because we got in a fight and I was mad!"

"Morgan, think about what you're doing!" Robin cried.

Another voice broke through the court, "Hold it right there!" Inigo Morales stood front and center in the court, "Ms. Cassidy's confession is precious little more than a very compassionate lie to save her friends… for it was I who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Y-You…?" the judge blinked.

"Indeed, I never much cared for the little man—he excelled in his academics, and always embarrassed me in our classes as such. I thought, therefore, to finally rid myself of him!"

Lloyd stared him down, "Impossible! Did you not testify that you called the deceased in the middle of your performance?"

"A cunning lie, don't you think? But I will not allow my dear friend Morgan to sacrifice herself for my sake: in reality, I absconded to the restroom during the break in my performance. The real reason for my tardiness was that I was disposing of the evidence from the scene of a murder!"

The excitement of the gallery was now so loud that the judge no longer bothered to call for order, as the murmur would not grow quiet no matter how many times he pounded his gavel.

"That's a lie!" Heads turned again, "I did it, don'cha see? I was the one mad at Ewan for embarrassing me over grades! Inigo and Morgan din't do nothin'!"

"And who are you?!" the judge stared.

"I'm Ross Hammond, friend to the victim and defendant alike. You guys don't have to throw You guys don't have to throw yourselves onto the fire for ol' me, much as I 'preciate it! I slunk off to the bathroom during the break and whacked our buddy, 'cause I'd gotten sick of his attitude. Please, put me in jail instead!"

"Ross, you idiot!" the soft voice of Nino Cooper wound out from another corner of the room, "Don't listen to him, people of the court! It was I, Nino Cooper, who slew the victim. He was so close to beating me in all of our classes, I couldn't stand the intensity of our rivalry anymore, so I killed him myself in an insane fit of rage, trying to stave off the pressure I felt!"

"You guys are all idiots," a dry voice called the court's attention to another part of the room, where Cath Nichols emerged from the doors to the prosecution's lobby, "Sweet idiots, but idiots all the same. I had it out for Ewan because he made fun of me on the sly to certain people… certain people I couldn't stand. So, when things were quiet, I slipped in and axed him out of revenge. I feel terrible about it, but I was so _angry_ …"

"Stop it!" Morgan pleaded, "It wasn't any of you, it was me!"

"No, it was me!"

"I did it!"

"Throw me in the slammer!"

"I'm the one you want!"

Robin and Lloyd were both left sweating and speechless, and the judge seemed equally flustered as he listened to the repeated confessions, "O-Order! Be quiet! Order! That is quite enough! S-Someone, stop this…! Bailiff, do something!"

"Take me!"

"I did the deed."

"Shut up, it was me!"

"Please, lock me away!"

"You imbeciles…!"

"Enough!" the judge reiterated.

"Morgan!" Robin shouted, "Please, retract this false confession you're making, can't you see it's tearing your friends apart?"

"No more than it'll tear them apart if someone is jailed on my behalf. I can't let it happen, Mr. LeBlanc, I just can't!"

"Everyone, be silent!" Lloyd commanded, "the defendant has already confessed! This trial need not proceed any longer!"

"Objection!" Robin protested, "Her confession is a false one! It's impossible for Ms. Cassidy to have committed this crime!"

"That's not true!" the redheaded girl protested, "Mr. Reed is right! I did it! I killed Ewan, so just end the trial and put me away!"

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "The defendant isn't in her right mind! She doesn't know what she's saying! We can't end this trial this way!"

"QUIET!" the judge boomed, shouting into a microphone on his bench.

Clutching their ears, the court finally fell silent.

"Mr. Reed, Mr. LeBlanc," he said, "the defendant and witnesses are obviously in a state of great agitation at the moment. As it stands, I see no way to proceed in this trial. I will suspend the trial for today, on the proviso that both counsels will calm the individuals in their charge and prepare new evidence to submit to the court when we reconvene. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Your Honor," Robin agreed.

"Yes, Your Honor," Lloyd acquiesced, gritting his teeth.

"Very well, then this court is adjourned."

The gavel fell, and the parties vacated the courtroom.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial, Day 1-end]


	11. Turnabout of a Kind: Invest Day 2

[October 20th, 8:46 am, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Anna pushed open the door to the offices, letting some of the cool fall air trickle in from the hallway. She walked over to a huddled mass spread out on the coffee table and nudged it with her knee.

A sallow-faced Robin LeBlanc popped out from under the pile of fabric that had been covering him. "Hot damn," the redheaded secretary started upon seeing the face, "Erm, I mean, uh, are you okay, Robin?"

"I'm… fine. Just… that was kind of a rough trial."

"No kidding. You were all shaken up when you got back, too. I don't think I've ever seen you so quiet."

"She… Morgan, that is, she really doesn't want to come out against any of her friends, Anna."

"Well, I guess I understand, but I think you need to make her realize going to jail isn't worth it, even if it means saving any of her friends. I mean, think about it: odds are, one of the people she's protecting actually killed another of her friends. How can you stand up for someone like that?"

Robin's fingers tensed, bunching up around the paper he was holding and crumpling its edge.

"Hey, Robin?" Anna waved her hand in front of his face, "I'm talkin' to you, here. Didja hear what I said?"

"Hm?" he looked up, "Ah, no… sorry, I was caught up in my own little world for a second, there."

"So, you have to find some new evidence, right?" she went on, "What's the plan? Where are you going to look?"

"I'm not sure," he ran his hands through his hair, "I have at least two possibilities to consider, and I thought I could ask Ms. Verlaine if she knows anything, but…"

"But?"

"But I can't do anything unless Morgan relinquishes control of her defense back to me. So I have to pay her a visit first."

"Sheesh, it's a real mess she put you in," the redhead folded her arms, "I don't imagine it'll be easy to change her mind, either."

"I thought the same thing," the attorney agreed, "Well, the bit about her not being easy to convince, at least. Either way, though, I have to try."

"Treat her like a delicate bouquet of roses," Anna smiled, "Ladies love that."

Robin smiled back at her, laughing, "And how, exactly, do you propose I do something like that? What does that even mean?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "it was some crap my dad used to say to my mom. Give her lots of hugs and pay for the bill at dinner, I guess."

"I'll see how that works out," he grinned, standing up.

"In all seriousness," she looked into his eyes, "She's in a difficult emotional spot right now. Be gentle with her, compassionate and empathetic, you know? She's facing the prospect of losing two out of five friends in a matter of days."

"I know," he nodded, "I have a few thoughts. Our case is sunk without her cooperation, so I'll just have to stay there until I can make her see it my way."

Anna hummed at him and went to sit back down at her desk, starting up the computer.

Robin blinked, "What did that sound mean?"

She looked back up, "I just noticed something. Well, I mean, I'd seen it before, but I only just put it together now."

"What's that?"

"That little thing you do when you're feeling determined, where you hold out your hand and clench your fist… Every time you do that, I see a certain look in your eyes that reminds me of the way Fado used to look."

Robin cracked a smile, "So, you mean you've spent a lot of time looking into my eyes?"

"Oh, stuff it," she rolled her eyes, "get lost. I got work to do."

"I'll leave you to it," he made for the door, "Thanks, Anna."

"Sure. Try not to collapse from sleep deprivation."

[October 20th, 9:38 am, Detention Center]

The detention center was relatively quiet and empty for once as Robin stepped in, nodding to the secretary, and walked up to the glass where Morgan was waiting, her eyes aimed at the floor. Robin felt a bit strange when he tried to open his mouth in the bizarre quiet of the darkened room, like speaking would shatter the otherwise sanctified silence—like it was an ill omen now. He tried to mute these thoughts and focus on the ruby-haired girl before him who was gripping the underside of her seat. The little marbles she was using to examine the carpet could barely be perceived between the long maroon strands that hung low in front of them. Robin took a deep breath and switched on the microphone, "Morgan?"

No answer.

"Ms. Cassidy?"

Silence.

"I want you to know that I understand and empathize with your decision. In your place, I might have done the same thing. But you should also know that nothing good can come of what you're doing. I know you think you're sparing your friends this way, but nobody wins in this scenario," he said, sitting down heavily in the chair across from her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered with a hollow voice, "I just told the truth. I'm the murderer."

Robin shook his head, "If that's what you want to maintain, I respect it, since I no longer have a choice in the matter. However, I'd like for you to at least hear me out before you make your decision final." The girl didn't stir, which Robin assumed meant he had the liberty to proceed, "I… wasn't so far away from where you were once sitting, Morgan. I was put on trial once, too."

Her head popped up, "You? What for?"

"Murder."

[*]

Fado Verlaine was an almost impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, bearded-and-mustachioed mountain of a man—the sort of fellow you just had to look up to, physically speaking, regardless of how you felt about him. The stocky boy looking back at him was a string bean by comparison, and the way the lad quivered didn't help the matter.

"I want to tell you that I believe your story, young man," the deep voice of Fado Verlaine told him, as the man stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Y-You do?" the boy sputtered.

The corner of Fado's mouth tugged into a smile, "Of course. It's my duty as a defense attorney to believe in my clients, and to give those with no one else to turn to an advocate."

"Is… that why you decided to help me?"

The attorney bowed his head, "Well, you're most certainly without very many people on your side, lad."

The boy's head sunk—it was true: life in the restrictive school was difficult on its own, but when he had been accused of murder with no guardian to return him to, there had been little doubt left in the minds of the Plegian police officers. They pummeled him when they spotted him around the scene, and they nearly broke his jaw so that it hurt to speak—he couldn't say a word in his own defense in his interrogation.

"I'm sorry," Fado apologized, "it was thoughtless of me to say it like that. What I mean is, everyone around you seems to have already drawn their conclusions—that's why I'm stepping in to help. See, when folks go making their mind up about something right away, like it's the most obvious decision in the world, that's when you need an attorney, because that's when they're most likely to have made a mistake. A good attorney can make people realize they've been thinking about things the wrong way since the very beginning."

"But… what mistake could they have made?"

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"No."

"Then let's start there: if you didn't kill her, then they must have made some mistake in analyzing the evidence. Why don't you look through it with me? You can help me figure out what doesn't make sense."

"All right. But how will I know?"

"I know what the police think, and you know what really happened. If you compare the two, something that they believe will have to be false. Then we just keep working backward from there until we unravel the whole case and figure out the truth."

It sounded so simple when he put it that way, and the determined creasing of his eyebrows, Robin couldn't help but to nod, "Okay… let's do it!"

[*]

"So, Mr. Verlaine agreed to help you, even though there was no other evidence supporting you?" Morgan asked, pinching her chin.

"That's right," Robin nodded, "and I would have been lost without his help."

"And I guess you must have been declared 'Not Guilty,' right? But how?"

"Why do you think I'm telling you this story, Morgan?"

She blinked a few times, then shrugged, "I don't know. Trying to inspire my confidence in you, I guess?"

"My friend betrayed me, Morgan," he stared back.

"Huh?"

"I lived at a boarding school when I was young, and I had a few friends there, but, unlike them, I didn't have a family to go back to during holidays. For a few years, I spent my days off alone in the school with a few of the teachers and the headmaster. It was only after a while that I had a few good friends willing to stick by me. I trusted all of them deeply, because they were other outcasts like me, and we pretended we were a gang of outlaws, rebelling against the system. You know, silly kid stuff. And then…"

"And then…?"

"And then, one day, I learned that trust meant nothing. Because Fado proved that it was one of my own friends who had committed the crime. And he had set me up to take the blame."

"What?! How could he be sure?"

"I protested, just like you, thinking there was no way it could be true, but then… Then I saw him. He came to my cell one day, after Fado had brought up the point in court… I remember the look in his eyes so vividly that night. 'Sorry, Robby,' he said to me, bowing his head, 'just part of the lifestyle, right?' He said it like it was nothing, like I should have been happy for him. I'd never felt that much confusion and contempt all at once."

"So what happened?"

"I vouched for him."

"What?!"

"I told the court that my friend couldn't have been guilty. Of course he couldn't—he was my friend. Surely he'd never betray me like that. It could only have been someone else."

"So… what happened after that? What did Fado do?"

"The only thing he could do, thanks to my stubbornness: he got the sentence lightened due to a lack of evidence from the prosecution, and then pleaded no contest."

"What?!" Morgan jumped, "but that means you…"

Robin nodded, "Technically, I'm a convicted murderer. In Plegia, anyway. Here, I'm just a transfer student."

"But… so… what happened to your friend?"

"He was exonerated, and I never heard from him again. All my other friends despised him for what he did, and for getting me jailed in his place. My friends were angry at me, too, for sticking up for him. 'Those who shield criminals are every bit as bad!' some of them told me. That was a dominant way of thinking in Plegia. Before long, I was back in school to finish my last few years, my original circle of friends long gone. All I could do was find some new ones and finish my education as quickly as possible, so I could leave that place."

Morgan was quiet for a few minutes, letting Robin take deep breaths, then she mewled, "Is... is that why you came here? To be a lawyer?"

Robin nodded, "Fado was the last person I ever trusted wholeheartedly. When I finished my required schooling, I wanted to go to Ylisse, where he had come from, to learn about his practice, and how I could help other people like me, and my home country."

"And you friends… they never came back to you, huh?"

"Nope. They stayed angry and bitter at one another for as long as I knew them after the trial, and now I no longer hear from them."

Morgan's head dipped down again, "I think I understand what you were trying to tell me now, Mr. LeBlanc."

"I think you do, too," he began to smile, "Good."

"Do you want to hear my decision?" she lifted her head back up and stared straight into his eyes.

"Only if you feel ready to make it," he nodded.

"I'm ready," she was sure, "Mr. LeBlanc… I'd like for you to take up my defense again."

Robin smiled fully, "Thank you, Morgan. It means a lot for me to hear you say that."

"Well, it's only because you're so convincing," she grinned back, "I want to help my friends… but more lies and deceit will never help to accomplish that. The only way to help whoever did this… to begin healing and trusting again… is to find the truth."

The attorney laughed, "You're really speaking Fado's language. If he were here, he'd say something like, 'Now, here's a good girl!' And then he'd laugh straight from his chest, like this." Robin puffed out his chest and boomed a laugh throughout the silent detention center.

Morgan giggled, "He seems like a remarkable man."

"He is," Robin beamed, "And that's why I want to follow in his footsteps more than anything. Which is why I'm going to gather more information on the crime so that we can get you found Not Guilty, all right?"

"All right!" she balled her small fists, "I'll, uh, stay here, I guess. But I'll give 'em hell if they try to question me again! I won't give up until the trial tomorrow, then I'll turn it over to you."

"Er, I can't counsel you to refuse cooperation with the police, exactly," Robin rubbed the back of his neck, "But, if you can promise me that there'll be no more false confessions, I'm willing to bet we can make this work just fine."

"Then I promise," she shouted back.

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow, then," Robin got up, gathering his things as he did so, and prepared to switch off the mic.

"Oh, and Mr. LeBlanc, before you go?" he heard.

"Hm?"

"Say 'hi' to my mom for me, please," the girl's expression softened a bit.

"Of course," he smiled again, "Until tomorrow, Morgan."

"Until tomorrow."

Robin stepped out of the detention center feeling a stirring in his heart and a particular temptation to clench his fist as a show of his resiliency. He felt so proud, but of what, exactly? He was just doing his job, so from whence did this pride come, this feeling of confidence, of righteousness? He smiled when he thought more about it: the young Robin LeBlanc had just decided to rescind his testimony.

[October 20th, 10:45 am, Verlaine Home for Children]

"Ms. Verlaine?" Robin asked, remembering his mistake and knocking loudly on the door as he entered to prevent startling her again.

"I'm here!" she shouted back from the hallway, suddenly rushing out from an obscured entryway and letting go of a vacuum, "Don't be so loud! I just put half those kids down for a nap!"

"My bad," he sighed, "Anyway, I wanted to discuss some of the case with you, if you have a minute."

She pulled her hair back and tied it off into a ponytail as he spoke. When he finished, she nodded, "That was some crazy ending to the trial. Morgan said she didn't want you to defend her anymore… what was the deal with that?"

"Well, I think she was trying to spare her friends—"

"Yeah, I know that, but why did you just stay quiet and let her?"

Robin blinked, "Did your father never tell you? In Ylissean law, a defendant has the right to assume control of their own defense during any phase of the litigation. It's rarely invoked, but it was one of the original rights listed in Ylisse's constitution, because prior to its becoming a constitutional monarchy—"

"Spare me the history lesson," she shushed him, "I just wanted to know how that worked. And why did you mention my father?"

He felt his face get hot, "I'm sorry, I just sort of assumed Fado would've taught you some things about Ylissean law…"

"Daddy didn't like to talk about work," she mused, eyes trailing to the ceiling, "He would complain to me about how boring it all was, and then we'd go watch an old movie on TV, or something. I always preferred the humanities to law in my studies."

"I see…" Robin digested the information, "It's just a bit odd to me, hearing that Fado's only child never picked up his trade… I'm…"

"Disappointed?"

"I was going to say 'surprised.'"

"Well, either way, don't be too stunned, because I'm not 'Fado's only child.'"

"How's that?"

"I have a twin brother who _did_ end up going into law: his name is Ephraim. I haven't heard from him in a good while, though. Maybe I ought to call him…"

 _Fado… There was so much going on at home that he never told me about. I guess he just didn't like for work and family to mix_. "In any case, Ms. Verlaine," Robin tried to bring himself out of his captivation, "about Morgan and her friends… do you know anything about Nino Cooper or Ross Hammond?"

Eirika Verlain laughed, "Do I? They're some of Morgan's friends, so of course I know about 'em."

"Do you think either of them might… bear a grudge against Morgan?" he hesitated.

She frowned, "No… I don't think so. I mean, they're both perfectly kind. Ross isn't the brightest bulb, but he's a real down-to-earth kid, so I don't see any reason for him to be angry at one of his friends—nor do I think he'd be smart enough to lay this kind of trap, speaking frankly."

"And Nino?"

"Nino's a bigger mystery, but she's a sweet girl, too. She's really polite around me and any other adults she sees. She's also quite competitive, and a bit of a sore loser, if we're being honest, but I can't stand to think she'd ever kill anyone out of spite. She's pretty quiet when left to her own devices, in my experience, so the idea of her going out and killing anyone sounds looney."

"Well, that's tricky. I don't suppose you know anything about their parents?"

"I only met Ross's folks once, so I'm drawing a blank there, but… Nino's I know really well—they run another orphanage on the other side of town."

"Really? Does that mean…?"

"Yep. Nino's adopted, too. Here, I'll write down the address if you wanna go chat 'em up. It's called the 'Concordia Children's' Refuge,' and the man who owns it is named Libra Concordia. His wife is Sonia."

"Thank you, Ms. Verlaine," Robin took the scrap of paper she handed him and tucked it into his pocket, "You've been very helpful, as always."

"Least I can do," she smiled, "Just remember to get this one done right, for my daddy's sake. After all, Morgan is, in a manner of speaking, his granddaughter."

"Right," the attorney swallowed, "point taken. Don't worry, I'll get all this sorted out before long."

"I have faith you will," she nodded.

[October 20th, 12:02 pm, Concordia Children's Refuge]

Robin knocked on the door gently at first, then a little louder after waiting a minute or two. He heard shuffling from behind the door along with a faint "I'm coming!" before the door finally swung open. Robin started in surprise as a wheat-haired woman with the finest features he had ever seen greeted him at the door in what appeared to be a long white robe.

"Oh!" he stammered, "I'm sorry. I hope I'm not bothering you, miss. Is this the Concordia Children's Refuge?"

The woman smiled, "Indeed, it is. And that would be 'mister,' if you do not mind."

"Beg pardon?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"I am Mr. Libra Concordia himself," the fair-haired figure bowed, "or Father Concordia to my children."

"Ack!" Robin jumped, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Concordia! I didn't mean anything by it!"

He laughed exactly as his appearance dictated he might, "Do not trouble yourself over it, my son. Many have made this mistake in addressing me—I inherited a great many of my mother's physical traits."

Robin now found himself blushing very brightly, "Still, my apologies. Er, and you're a priest, Mr. Concordia?"

"Quite right," he nodded, placing his hands over the Brands of the Exalt adorning his robes in a brilliant embroidered sapphire, "Though I long ago determined that the church was not my proper home. No, I am quite a bit more comfortable taking care of the disadvantaged youth of this grand city, just as another priest took care of me when I was but a babe."

"I see," Robin nodded, "That's very noble of you, Mr. Concordia. I was wondering, though… do you know a girl named Nino Cooper?"

He nodded again, "She is one of the children in my care. Is something the matter?"

"I'm afraid she's involved in a murder trial."

"Ah, yes, the trial of Morgan Cassidy and the death of her friend, Ewan Allen. I am well aware of it."

"Well, I'm the attorney defending Ms. Cassidy, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Nino, to better understand her relationship to Morgan?"

"You mean to determine if she committed the crime?"

"I… uh, didn't say that…"

Libra Concordia laughed, "Do not worry, Mr. LeBlanc. I understand your position, however, I do not believe you will find me a particularly useful resource: our little family has nothing to hide, dear Nino least of all."

"I'd still like to ask you a few things, if I may," Robin pleaded.

"Very well," the priest smiled, "do come in." He stepped out of the doorway and back toward a big dining table at the end of the hall. Robin followed him and noticed that the place looked very much the opposite of Eirika's orphanage: there were no drawings strewn about the walls, no clutter or dirt on the floor, no gaggles of children running about shouting and playing tag. Instead, the walls were practically gleaming pure white, the floors were mostly tile and undisturbed by any dirt, and the few children that Robin did see as he gazed around were sitting quietly, propped up on chairs reading holy books and dressed either in robes like Libra's or in children's formal outfits: slacks and button-up shirts for the boys and flowery dresses for the girls.

As they sat down at the dining table, Robin caught the scent of something strange that made his nose wrinkle reflexively. He didn't mean to insult the priest, but the expression showed rather clearly, and he couldn't help displaying his disgust. It smelt a bit like burnt rubber. He walked into another room, following the scent, and found himself kneeling down before the fireplace wherein he discovered what did, in fact, appear to be a scrap of rubber.

Libra must have noticed, because he also appeared behind the attorney and smiled in response to his expression, "Ah, you must be noticing it just now. A few days ago, we had an unfortunate incident wherein some ill-taught reprobate elected to toss something down into our furnace through the chimney. We believe it was either rotten eggs or sulfur, given the pungent odor. You will have to excuse us this untidy circumstance."

"Of course," Robin dismissed, "but why would someone do that to you?"

"Not all in Ylisse are fervently religious, Mr. Attorney," Libra smiled, "Some among them strongly dislike the men and women of the cloth."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Concordia," Robin frowned, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I never give you my name? I'm Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law."

"Very good, Mr. LeBlanc," the priest seated himself and invited his guest to do the same, "What would you like to ask of me?"

"First, how well do Morgan and Nino know each other?"

"Quite well. Morgan and Nino, both being adopted children, developed a bond early on in grade school. The two both excelled in their studies and frequently had the top grades in their class. Morgan grew to be a bit of a slacker in her later days, however—allowing Nino's persistence to take her to the top. They nonetheless had a certain friendly rivalry regarding grades all throughout their schooling. It's a bit sad to see it ended, honestly. Morgan always drove Nino to do so well. Without her, well… forgive me, it is irresponsible of me to speculate on her future."

"How long has Nino been in your care?"

"Since she was but a babe. She regards my wife, Sonia, as her own mother, and me as her father. She is a delightfully devoted daughter of Naga."

"Has she ever appeared to have… violent tendencies?"

Libra laughed considerably less gently, "No. Never. Nino is a wonderfully intelligent and levelheaded girl. She has never shown any propensity for violence—she knows well that wrath is a dreadful sin."

"Do you know of anyone who might have regarded Ewan Allen as an enemy?"

"I am afraid I know little of the lives of my children's acquaintances. If such a person exists, they are beyond my awareness."

_Well, he was right. He's not giving me an inch, here. Is there really nothing that could lead to Nino's involvement? The only other possibility is Ross, so I guess I could still look into his family, but…_

Robin blinked and picked his head up as he heard heels clicking down the hallway. Before long, a woman in a long red dress with black accents that hugged her figure noticeably tight. Complementing the dress, she had long waves of black hair and curiously gold eyes. Her lipstick shone ruby-red under the gold light streaming in from the windows, and her maroon acrylic nails gave her hands a distinctively claw-like look. Robin couldn't help but spend a moment assessing her appearance.

"I didn't know we were entertaining guests today," she breathed onto Libra.

Libra swallowed, "Er, this is not a formal arrangement. This is Mr. LeBlanc, the defense attorney in the trial of Morgan Cassidy. Mr. LeBlanc, this is my wife, Sonia."

She smiled slowly in a way that made Robin want to shiver, "Ah, I'm familiar with all that. I saw it on the news. Quite a stunning end to that trial. But did not the girl assert her right to defend herself?"

"She's since changed her mind," Robin answered.

"I see," her smile ceased, "Well, I don't know what you could want with us, Mr. LeBlanc. We're but a humble pair of parents to so many lovely children."

"I'm investigating possible leads on the crime," the attorney responded, "including Nino Cooper, who is in your care."

She scoffed, "You plan on indicting our sweet little Nino in place of that low-born wretch? Honestly, you ambulance-chasers are all the same."

"Now, now," Libra squeaked.

Robin stood up, "My job is to try to get a handle on all the facts of the case. We figured out in court yesterday that it was highly unlikely that Morgan committed the crime, but the only way to prove it is to prove someone else was responsible. That means I have to consider everyone who was likely to be involved. And Nino is among the likeliest."

Sonia's smile returned and she examined her nails disinterestedly, "You certainly have some gall, speaking to me in such terms in my own home. What are you hoping to find here, a confession? My darling Nino has done nothing."

"May I speak to her?" Robin asked.

The black-haired woman looked back up, "Unfortunately, Nino is in the midst of writing some essays for college placement. It would be very rude and disruptive to disturb her now."

"I respect the importance of education, but someone's dead, Mrs. Concordia," the attorney said.

She wrinkled her nose, "Do not refer to me by that name. I am Mrs. Sonia Verdun, and you will do well to remember it."

Libra managed to choke out: "S-Sonia never took my name after our marriage. She prefers to use her own."

"Very well, Mrs. Verdun," Robin nodded, "but can't you see the importance of these questions?"

"I see nothing but a contemptible little scoundrel trying to jail my sweet child. I have no intention of letting you speak to her, to be perfectly clear: she is far too involved in her studies, and I will not allow you to ruin her very important academic pursuits," she replied.

"Doesn't she have the right to decide for herself whether or not she speaks to me?" Robin folded his arms.

Sonia paused and frowned, fiddling with her wedding ring, "Mr. LeBlanc. You appear to be laboring under the delusion that I'm interested in your works. I'm not. Right now, I consider you to be little more than a trespasser. Underestimating my willingness to act would be… unwise."

Robin stared back at her, feeling his jaw quiver a bit, "Are you… threatening me?"

"I'm telling you that you're very close to becoming _persona non grata_ in my household. Can you understand that?" she folded her arms.

The attorney felt his shoulders tense, but he did the best he could to relax them, "I do. You should also understand, however, that I don't give up easily. Just because you're shutting me out doesn't mean I won't find the truth. And when I do, you'll be in hot water for obstructing justice."

Sonia scowled fiercely and pulled a cell phone out of her bra, "Now I hear a man making threats against me inside my own home. I'm going to strongly recommend that you leave, Mr. LeBlanc."

"No recommendation needed," he huffed, "I was already on my way out."

[October 20th, 2:18 pm, Les Chevaliers Night Club]

"—honestly, what were you thinking? With the number of times I've had to cover for you, I would've thought you weren't capable of doing anything stupider, and then you go and do _this_!"

"My mind ran away from me, Kent. Surely you can understand…?"

"I understand that this club is as good as sunk thanks to your foolishness! Farina is going to have my hide if she finds out our income is gone!"

"W-Well, we're not done yet! We just need some of the bad press to clear up once the trial's over, and we'll be right as rain!"

"And how long do you think _that_ 'll take?"

"Um…"

"Fellas, can your little lovers' quarrel wait? I'm tryin' to teach this little lady how to be a proper detective, and you're screwin' it up somethin' fierce."

Robin finally stepped into view, noticing Detective Fletcher along with Neimi on one side of the room and Sain and Kent on the other. "Uh, detective," he saluted, "Mr. Cheval. Mr. Clarke."

"Great, and now the attorney who ruined our reputation is back," Kent rolled his eyes, "Haven't you done enough damage? What more do you want from us?"

"Any damage, you done to yourselves, fellas," Colm frowned and lit his cigarette.

"I'm trying to gather up some new evidence. Is there anything new you can tell me about the scene, detective?" the attorney turned to him.

Colm exhaled, "Well, damned if you weren't right about that blasted hair dye, for one thing. The other is, we managed to crack the code on our victim's cell phone, which means we got a chance to look at his calls and messages."

"Anything worth noting?"

"Not much. He didn't really call or text anyone the day of the crime except to coordinate what time they were meeting. We've got the call on record from that Morales fella, but no message, or anything. Pretty much just chats with the usual suspects, outside of that."

"Is there any way I could get a transcript of his texts, at least from the last month?"

"Huh? Not sure why you'd bother goin' that far back, but yeah, I'll get one o' the eggheads to bring you somethin' by trial time tomorrow."

"Much obliged, detective. So, how are things going with your junior, here?"

"Hey, I don't hafta take that kinda crap from no lawya!" the pink-haired girl growled back. When Robin's eyebrows jumped up in surprise, she put her hands up to cover her mouth, "I'm sorry! That's just what Detective Fletcher told me to say when I'm insulted by a lawyer."

 _Teaching her well, detective_.

Colm Fletcher laughed and slapped his knee, "Ha! J'you see the look on his face? There may be hope for you yet, Ms. Pretty in Pink."

"You think so?" she beamed.

"Sure, now, do me a favor and grill the green and red peppers over here and we'll be all set."

"Yessir! Mr. Cheval, where were you on the night of October 18th?"

"Agh! …In the club?"

"Which club?!"

"Ahh! Mine!"

Robin blinked and watched the scene play out for another minute.

"Oh, and one other thing, LeBlanc," Colm cleared his throat.

Robin faced him again, "Hm?"

"That knife that got you all wound up in the trial? Turns out it was stolen from some department store. Go figure," the detective shrugged.

"Did they have any surveillance footage of the thief?" Robin hoped.

"They did, but I wouldn't get too excited: all you can see is someone about that girl's size in one o' them school-issued jackets."

"So… no help at all, then," Robin sighed.

"Not much," the detective laughed, "I think everyone o' the witnesses has an alibi about being out there that night. You can have this copy of the photo, if ya want it."

Robin accepted it and looked over the image scrupulously, "Huh. Say, detective, doesn't something seem off about this picture? Something around the thief's head…?"

Colm checked it with an eyebrow cocked, "Nah, I think you're imagining things on account o' the shadows."

"Well, either way," Robin smiled, "I appreciate your help, detective. I had to deal with Nino's mother, Sonia Verdun, earlier today, and that was a colossal pain in the neck."

"Verdun?" the detective's brow shot up, "You talked to Verdun?"

"Uh, yeah," the attorney paused, "why?"

Colm Fletcher took another drag on his cigarette, "Forget it. Prob'ly nothing. Just be careful who you talk to, _capice_?"

"All right," Robin nodded hesitantly.

"Detective, call her off, please!" Sain cried out.

"Good gods, have some dignity!" Kent rolled his eyes.

Colm glanced at them, then his subordinate, and then at Robin, "Sorry. I gotta situation to take care of."

"Sure," Robin bowed, "thanks again, detective."

[October 20th, 4:48 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin stepped off the elevator and walked toward the door of the office, rubbing his eyes, which were rebelling against their open state quite vigorously. He thought he might hear Anna typing away at her computer when he popped in, but the office was deadly silent. Looking around, he thought to call out for Anna.

Then he heard a mechanical click behind his neck as the door slammed shut.

"Mr. LeBlanc." Robin gasped as the slender figure of Sonia Verdun appeared from behind one of the office walls. "Fancy meeting you here. A word of advice: don't go crying for help. You'll only make your situation worse."

"You," Robin sneered, "where's Anna?"

Sonia snapped her fingers and a pair of men in suits and dark shades pulled Anna forward from behind the same wall. Her eyes were wide, her legs and hands were bound, and her mouth was sealed shut with duct tape.

"Anna!" Robin shouted, "What did they do to you?! If you hurt her, I swear, I'll…!"

"You'll what?" she smirked back, "You'll forget about the pistol aimed at the back of your head? I dare you. I'm sure your little secretary would love to see that show.

Anna tried to shout and wriggled her hands.

"Quiet, you," Sonia motioned toward her thugs, who dragged Anna back behind the wall.

"What is it you want?" Robin demanded, clenching his fist.

She smiled, "Ah, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Well, luckily for you, it's very simple: I want you to let this case go. Have the girl plead guilty, and I'll let the redhead live."

"Why? Why is it so important for you to see Morgan in jail?"

"This isn't about that little redheaded simpleton, you imbecile. This is to do with my daughter. And how I won't allow you to go around slandering her name. …Or mine."

"You think you can just get away with murdering Anna right in front of me? In broad daylight? With all these other people in the building?"

"We can wait until quitting time, darling. And if you refuse, I'll be happy to take both your lives."

Robin could do little more than clench his fist and stare at the floor. _What can I possibly do? If I refuse her terms, she'll kill me and Anna. If I do accept them, though, I'll be dooming Morgan. Eirika will probably never speak to me again… I'd be betraying Fado's whole legacy!_

Robin was shocked by a ruffle behind him. For a moment, he shut his eyes, thinking Sonia had given up on waiting for his answer and had decided to kill him. After a few seconds in darkness, however, he looked back up to find Sonia wearing a strained expression. He turned his head and saw Rath stepping forward, as well as the man who had been pointing a gun being dragged into the hallway.

"R-Rath?" Robin stuttered.

"Verdun, you she-rat," the mafioso smirked, "I shoulda known you'd be the one skulkin' around here."

"The young Tolstoy," she spat, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Didja think the Tolstoys wouldn't notice you makin' moves like this? Threatenin' civvies is bad form, Verdun. Then again, no one claimed you had a lot of principle to start," Rath said.

"The lawyer?" she scoffed, "He was snooping. This is an entirely private affair. Why are you getting involved?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rath took a few steps forward, "Point is, I've got a lot more firepower waiting right outside. And I mean a _lot_ more. _Mio padre_ ain't particularly pleased by what he's seen, you operatin' in such a big, public space like this."

"What do you care about one stupid lawyer?" Sonia demanded, "I refuse to believe this is all by chance. Is he yours?"

Rath pointed his finger sharply, "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, toots. All you need to know is that you're gonna walk outta here on the count of five, and you're never gonna come back. Else you and your boys are gonna end up with a big extra dose of iron in you, get my drift?"

Sonia Verdun growled.

"One… two… three…"

With a final grunt and a twist of her heel, the black-haired woman signaled her men and walked out of the room, deliberately bumping into Robin as she did so. When she left, two men entered the room began to untie Anna.

"Rath… what are you doing here?" Robin asked, unable to move.

"Fine question to ask a guy who just saved your neck," the mafioso chuckled, "My pops noticed some o' Verdun's crew hanging around here—they use some pretty distinctive vehicles. When we found out it was where your office was, we figured somethin' fishy was goin' on."

Robin took a moment to find his breath, and then turned all the way around to face his savior, "Well… I can't thank you enough. I don't know what would've happened if you didn't show up when you did."

"Heh," he tugged on his jacket, " _Nessuna problema_. Everybody gets one, ya know? Just don't go making this a repeat problem."

"I'll do my damnedest," the attorney nodded.

Rath laughed again, "I bet you will. Oh, and this should go without saying, but not a word of this to the cops, yeah? I find out you let them on our trail and our partnership's gonna go south real quick, got me?"

"Yeah," Robin breathed, "no worries."

"All right. I can't linger with this many guys, so I'm gonna take off, then," Rath turned around and walked out the door, "Keep your eyes peeled, all right? Never know who might be waitin' just behind your door… Hahaha!"

The shock gradually wearing off, Robin jumped to the corner of the room, where he found Anna propped up on a chair, "Oh, gods! Anna, are you all right?! Please tell me they didn't hurt you!"

"I'm… okay," she sighed, flexing her wrists, "Those clowns were rough, but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his head, "I'm… so sorry, Anna. I put you in this danger. I'd understand if you… no longer want to work here."

She snickered, then laughed out loud.

Robin's glassy eyes looked back up, "What? What's so funny?"

"Haha!" she giggled, "You think a mob kidnapping is enough to scare me? Oh, gods, if I had a nickel!"

Robin rubbed his temples, "You mean… this has happened before?"

"Oh, gods yes," she was still chuckling, "Do you know how many organized criminals wanted revenge against Fado?"

Robin stared straight ahead and said nothing.

Anna smiled, "Still, it was cute to see how broken up you were. I'm glad to see you care that much about me, Boss."

"I… think I need to lay down," Robin sputtered, doing just that on the nearby sofa.

"I'll get you some cold water," Anna hummed as she went into the kitchen.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Investigation Day 2-End]


	12. Turnabout of a Kind: Trial Day 2

[October 21st, 9:52 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

"Do you remember everything you need to say to the judge?" Robin LeBlanc asked, ordering the small stack of papers, "If not, we can go over it again."

"No, I think I've got it," answered his client, smiling and balling her small fists, "I'm ready to let the whole truth come to light, Mr. LeBlanc."

He nodded, "That's great to hear, Morgan. Your cooperation means everything."

"Can I… can I stand by you at the bench again?" she pressed her fingers together.

"Sure," the attorney nodded, "you were a big help last time. I could use you up there, keeping me focused."

"Yes!" she grinned, "Er, I mean… thank you, Mr. LeBlanc. …Also, yes!"

"The trial will reconvene in five minutes," announced the bailiff, staring right at the young attorney, "Please be ready to enter the courtroom at that time."

"Are we all set, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan wondered.

"I think so. I just need to make a quick call," Robin answered, pulling out his cell phone.

The phone rang twice before picking up, "Robin?"

"Hi, Anna," he greeted, "how are things at the office?"

"They're fine, just like they were an hour ago when you left, Robin. And like when you called me half an hour ago," she said, her eye-roll practically audible through the phone.

"Can you blame me for being a little… nervous?"

"Nervous, no. Paranoid, yes. I'll be fine, Robin. Concentrate on the trial, on saving that girl, okay?

"Okay. Call me if anything happens, though, okay?"

"All right, just chill out."

She hung up. Robin sighed. Whether from relief or exasperation he wasn't sure.

"What was that about?" Morgan tapped a finger on her chin.

"Oh, we had a little scare with a burglar. Nothing serious," he downplayed.

_Something is deeply wrong with this trial. Between this circle of friends, one of whom lied to the others and murdered another of them, and that woman… what was she so afraid of me finding? I can't be certain, but the best way to answer all those questions is surely to move forward and uncover what really happened in this case. That's all I can do._

"Mr. LeBlanc," he heard Morgan beckoning him, "the bailiff is summoning us."

"All right," he got up, "let's get it done."

[October 21st, 10:01 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The judge cleared his throat and adjusted a pair of reading glasses that were sitting on the bridge of his nose. He called out, "Order, please. This court will now reconvene for the trial of Morgan Cassidy. As I recall, Ms. Cassidy, this trial had to be halted because you rescinded Mr. LeBlanc's control of your defense and made a confession. How do you plan to proceed?"

"Your Honor," she took a deep breath, "following the events of yesterday's trial, I realized that my actions were rash and misguided, and my confession a false one. Fearful of victimizing one of my friends, I made a false confession in order to save them. I have since realized that this was a mistake: obfuscating the truth in such a manner will ensure nothing but a failure of our legal system, and so I ask for my own remarks to be stricken from the record, on the grounds that they were made under duress, and I hereafter relinquish control of my defense to the very capable Mr. Robin LeBlanc."

"Tsk," Lloyd Reed shook his head, "Congrats on teaching your little lapdog to talk, LeBlanc. Unfortunately, the fact that you'll be defending her again will do nothing to save her. This trial is as good as decided, and you know it full well. Why not spare yourself the trouble?"

Robin shook his head, "Taunt me as much as you like, Prosecutor Reed. My objective today is to use the evidence I've uncovered to set this innocent girl free, nothing less."

Lloyd shut his eyes, "My, but you are a stubborn cur."

"In that case," said the judge, stroking his beard, "I believe we have no choice but to continue the trial where it left off, meaning we're left with five confessions, one of which has just now been stricken from the record. How can we proceed with four competing confessions?"

"We discard them from the record, just like the defendant's," Lloyd folded his arms, "They were all made under similar circumstances for similar reasons. As such, there's no need to consider any of them as factually accurate."

The judge nodded, "That does seem a fairly logical conclusion. Do you have any contention with the prosecution's proposition, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Actually, I do," he nodded.

Lloyd frowned, "Don't be a contrarian, LeBlanc. Just because it's my idea doesn't mean it's a bad one. Surely you must see that this is the only way we can proceed with the trial."

The attorney shook his head, "I disagree. If the prosecution made one thing abundantly clear in its arguments the other day, it's that the murderer of Ewan Allen could only be one of the members of his circle of friends, all of whom are the deliverers of our remaining confessions."

"Excepting the defendant, who just now withdrew hers, so we can assume the rest are all junk," Lloyd sighed.

"Not so," Robin corrected him, "If we take as a given that the murderer was one of Allen's friends, then it stands to reason that someone's confession will ring of truth, while the others can all be dismissed as false."

"And what if they can all be disproven?" Lloyd stared at his opposing counsel, "Then you'd have no choice but to admit that the defendant is the only one who could've committed the murder."

"If it comes to that," Robin nodded slowly, "it may be necessary for me to reevaluate my options, but I'm fairly confident that one of these confessions will have to offer us the truth. As such, I would like to ask all of the confessors to testify so that the court can determine the veracity of their claims."

Robin looked over and saw Morgan frowning, "…'Fairly certain,' Mr. LeBlanc? You know this is my whole life we're talking about, here, right?"

"I don't want to seem overconfident to the court, Morgan," he whispered, "Juries hate that. Humility in self-presentation is always the way to go."

"Hm," she faced the front of the court, "I guess. Just please don't go saying anything you're not sure of."

"Oh, I won't," he sighed. _I'm glad she bought that_.

"All right, Mr. LeBlanc, if that's the angle you're going after, then it's your funeral," the Lloyd shrugged, "The prosecution has no objections to the defense's plan of action, Your Honor."

"Very well," the judge rapped his gavel off the desk, "So long as both counsels are in agreement, I see no reason not to proceed. Bailiff, would you please bring the witnesses to the stand?"

Robin fiddled with a few papers on his desk, trying to look busy. Mostly, he grabbed at and dog-eared the corners of the pages without even really glancing at the text upon them. He didn't notice Morgan, who continued to stare straight ahead as all of her friends were brought to the stage. Lloyd remained silent, bordering on disinterest as the colorful group was paraded up to the stand. The only thing that betrayed his illusion of aloofness was the way he tugged on the inside of his sleeve when his arms were folded.

"Now then," the judge declared, looking them over, "You all have delivered a confession to this court. That means that most or all of you must necessarily be telling the court a falsehood, for which you will pay a penalty to be determined later, unless you elect to recant your confession now, before the trial proceeds, in which case, you will not be charged. With that in mind, would any of you like to step down?"

Heads and hands fidgeted, but none of the teenagers at the stand spoke a word.

"Very well," the judge sighed, "We will be forced, then, to have each of you deliver your testimony to the court, whereupon you will be cross-examined by Mr. LeBlanc. Do you understand?"

The group nodded.

"All right, then. Each of you, please step up and give the court your name and occupation, as well as your confession in significant detail," said the judge, sitting back and interlacing his fingers.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the court," the first young man to come forward did so with a glittering smile, "My name is Inigo Morales, and, as you may recall, I was on the stage at the time of the crime. Or so I would have you believe, haha! In truth, it was I who murdered Ewan. When I seemed to disappear from the stage, forestalling the performance, it was because I was in the restroom killing Ewan. I despised him for embarrassing me with his prominent academic performance. Try though I may to win over the ladies, I was always subverted by Ewan's innocence and intellect, damn him. Please, take me to prison."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge turned ever so slightly.

"You're lying, Mr. Morales," Robin shook his head, "I spoke with Detective Fletcher yesterday. He told me that the police had managed to figure out the passcode to Ewan's phone, and when they did, they found a record of your call to him. There would be no need for you to call the victim if you planned to kill him, especially since yesterday you testified that you had done so to see how he was enjoying the performance."

"No, no," he stuttered, "Y-You see, that was but another example of my malfeasance! In truth, I called him while I waited in the bathroom to ensure that I knew it was he who entered when I heard him."

"But then you would have needed precise knowledge of when he was going to enter, or you would have made several other calls when other people entered the restroom. That, and you testified about seeing the victim enter the restroom the other day. These claims cannot be mutually correct."

Inigo frowned, "I… suppose I have no choice. Indeed, it is as you say, Mr. LeBlanc. I am not Ewan Allen's murderer… I was on-stage at the time of the crime, as my earlier testimony describes. I have nothing to say in my defense but that I care for my friends deeply."

"That will be all, Mr. Morales," Robin sighed, "I believe you can step down for now."

"It seems there may be some merit to the defense's method after all, wouldn't you say, Prosecutor Reed?" the judge observed.

Lloyd rolled his eyes, "Don't get too excited on his behalf, Your Honor. Anyone with half a brain could guess that Inigo Morales was innocent: he's the only one of the group who has an unimpeachable alibi."

"Shall we move on, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge's eyes flicked back.

"Yes," he nodded, "let's."

Cath Nichols came forward next, announcing her name and her unemployment while stroking a few locks of ginger hair out of her face. "I hated Ewan because he spread some gross rumors about me to some people I didn't like. I waited in the men's bathroom for a while, and when I heard him come in, I jumped him and put him down."

"What do you think, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Ms. Nichols, why would you leave hair dye in the sink if your hair is already red like the defendant's?"

"It's not the same shade. I had to fix it up a bit like that in order to frame her."

"These rumors that Mr. Allen spread, to whom did he spread them, and what were they, generally?"

"Uh, he told… some girls that I was… that I hit for both teams. That's all."

"'Some girls,' you say? Can you tell me which ones?"

"What's it to you?"

"We now have Mr. Ewan's phone records, if you'll recall. If you tell me when the rumors were spread and to whom, I can verify it via his texts or calls."

"Uh… look, that stuff's not important, all right? Fact o' the matter is, I waited in the men's room and killed Ewan when he showed up."

"So then, how did Morgan's fingerprints get on the murder weapon instead of yours?"

"E-Easy, I just wiped 'em off and had her grab the knife afterward."

"Ms. Cassidy, did you ever take hold of a knife given to you by Ms. Nichols that evening?"

"No, sir."

"Ms. Nichols, if the defendant had done what you described, don't you think it would have been among the first things she said in her defense?"

"I-I dunno! She coulda said a lot of things!"

"Ms. Nichols. If you wanted to implicate Ms. Cassidy of the crime, then why would you be confessing right now?"

"I… changed my mind?"

"Was the jacket found discarded in the trash near the restroom yours?"

"Um…"

"Let me put it this way: if we looked in your closet at home, would we find something that makes your story incongruous with the facts of the case?"

"Argh! Awright, fine! Shaddap already! So I didn't do it! I lied 'cause I wanted to keep my friends safe. There, ya happy, you bastard?"

"A little," Robin smiled.

"Morgan," Cath glared at her, "Why are you doing this? We're all thick as thieves, aren't we?"

Morgan shook her head, "Sorry, Cath, but no one is ever going to be happy about how this turns out until we find out who's really responsible. If we figure out who did it, then maybe we can start to forgive them, but if we don't, there's always going to be some kind of doubt, and I won't let it be like that." Cath frowned and left the stand.

 _Two down, two to go_.

"Prosecutor Reed," the judge cleared his throat, "you're being awfully quiet. Don't you have anything to say?"

"Not until the attorney presents something substantial," Lloyd shrugged, "Right now, Mr. LeBlanc is just narrowing the suspect list, like I did before this trial even started. There's no point in deliberating so long as he's reaching the same conclusions I did."

_Reed backing off? I never thought I'd see the day. Well, all the same, best not to miss my chance. I can get this trial really going firmly in my favor if I make my point clear right here, right now. The only confessions left come from Ross and Nino, and, knowing what I know now… My experience leads me to conclude that there's only one real candidate left, meaning I have to find a way to disprove one's alibi while simultaneously proving the other's. Here goes nothing…_

"Mr. Ross Hammond," Robin lifted his head, "would you come forward next, please?"

"Sure," he grinned, "if it'll get this over quicker."

"Name and occupation for the record," Lloyd droned.

"I'm Ross Hammond, and I'm an apprentice carpenter, working for my old man! I'm gonna learn his secrets and be the best carpenter this world's ever seen. …After I finish trade school, that is," the boy said, thumbing at himself intermittently.

"Your testimony, if you please, Mr. Hammond," the judge extended his hand.

"Righto," he smiled, "See here: I was really ticked at ol' Ewan 'cause he was so much smarter than me! Damn if I wasn't jealous o' that guy—like Ini said, the ladies were all over him 'cause he was so sweet and smart and innocent. Er, not that I'd know about that, o'course. I was just really mad. So when we were waiting for Ini's show to start back up, I took a little trip to the ol' crapper to take care of him, once and for all."

"I'm sorry," Robin blinked, "'Ini?'"

"Yeah, that's what I call Mr. Dancer over here," Ross grinned, "Ini-meenie-miney-Inigo! Get it? Haha!"

"R-Right," Robin stuttered, "Uh, in any case, I'll ask you the same question I asked Ms. Nichols: how can you explain the defendant's—er, Morgan's fingerprints being on the weapon?"

"Aw, that's easy. My pops knows a buncha metalworkers. He has a whole pile o' metal stuff that he's gotten as gifts from them, including silverware. I took one of the knives he had lyin' around and showed it to Morgan once, and then, thinking of that, I decided to use it to kill Ewan and frame her. But now I've decided I ain't happy with lyin' about it anymore if it's gonna put Morgan or anyone else in jail."

"Your flippant motives aside," Robin sighed, "The detective told us in the previous trial that the knife was of very common make and could have come from anywhere."

"Well, just 'cause it was a gift don't mean it was completely unique," the boy folded his arms.

"So… this unnamed metalworker gifted your father an incredibly common knife that he could have bought himself for next to nothing?"

"Hey! Don't insult my pop's friends! Sure, it was common, but it was hand-made and delivered straight to him, so it was special! Like that time I made a wooden clock in shop—sure, my pops coulda bought one just like it, but it wouldn't be the same, ya know?"

 _I know it feels like we're losing the plot fast_. "I… suppose I see your point," Robin frowned, "Still, I'd like to draw the court's attention to this photo, recovered between trials by the police, that clearly shows the theft of a similar knife being conducted by someone in your school-issued jacket—"

"Objection!" The court faced Lloyd Reed. He shook his head, "I was wondering how long it'd take for you to bring that up. As you can see, the individual in that photograph has very little in the way of distinguishing physical features: their face is totally obscured, and being that the photo is in black and white, there is really nothing that can be gleaned from it, aside from their clothing, which is proof of nothing."

"W-Well," Robin rebutted, considerably thrown off by his opponent's sudden interruption, "still, isn't there something to be said for the person's head? Look at the photo and you'll see there's something off about it."

"I see nothing," Lloyd shook his head, "except that this person seems to have dark hair, much like our excitable witness, here. I don't suppose it's he who you've decided to blame for Ms. Cassidy's crime, is it?"

Robin paused. _Could it really be? Doesn't this photo give me any other information? Looking over the evidence, I already had my conclusion, but… there's definitely something curious about this photo, I just know there is. If Ross is the one who stole the knife, though… Damn. I'm this close, but there's some piece of the puzzle that's eluding me. There must be some way I can resolve all this._

"Mr. LeBlanc," Morgan whispered.

Robin turned to face her, "Do you have a thought, Morgan?"

"Not exactly, just kind of a hunch," she admitted, "I think you're right about the person's head looking off—it seems, I dunno, too smooth."

"You think it was someone bald?" he guessed.

She shook her head, "No, not like that… I don't know, maybe it's not hair we're looking at?"

"That's a possibility," Robin nodded, "but I'm not sure if—"

"Your Honor," everyone in the court looked up. Nino Cooper was staring back at them, "I'm afraid I have to recant my confession. Looking at all that happened… there can be no doubting it. The person in that photo is Ross. He's the one who stole that knife and used it to kill Ewan, and then he somehow got Morgan's prints on it in order to frame her. I'm sorry it had to be like this, Ross, but you made your choice."

"N-Nino…" the boy stammered, "What?"

"I'm sorry," tears began to pool in the girl's eyes, "can I leave now? I… I can't watch this anymore."

"No objections," Lloyd shrugged.

"Yes, I believe you've had quite enough heartache for one lifetime, young lady. With the defense's permission, I'll let you return to the lobby so that you can call your parents and rest a bit."

"Objection," Robin declared.

"W-What?" Nino whipped her head around to him, as did Morgan.

Lloyd scowled, "What's your game now, LeBlanc?"

"I'm afraid Ms. Cooper's allegations don't hold water," he shook his head. "Mr. Hammond's confession can be disproven if we ask his father to identify the knife, or if he will tell us the name of the metalworker who supposedly gifted his father the knife. In either case, failure to prove that story would mean that Mr. Hammond's confession is false, in which case, only one conclusion remains."

"You…" Nino Cooper covered her mouth with her open palm, "You wouldn't!"

He nodded, "I will. Your Honor, the defense would like to formally indict Nino Cooper for the murder of Ewan Allen."

The gallery erupted into whispers for a minute before the judge called for order a few times and the court settled down.

"Objection," Lloyd rolled his eyes, "on what evidence do you base this accusation?"

Robin pulled out the photo, "This photograph, of course."

"Objection!" the prosecutor shouted again, "We _just_ went over this: the only thing that photo proves is that someone with dark hair wearing a jacket like that of the defendant and victim entered the store and appeared to have stolen the knife."

"Objection!" Robin answered, "I was wondering what was bothering me about this photo for a long time, and then it finally hit me: you've made a critically false assumption about this photo, Mr. Reed."

"And what's that?" he growled.

"The thing that you're referring to as the person's hair… it isn't really hair at all," Robin smirked, "It's a hairband—exactly like the one Ms. Nino Cooper is wearing!"

"What?!" Lloyd collapsed onto his desk.

"Hm," the judge brought his reading glasses back to his face, "Upon further inspection, this does look too smooth and defined to be hair."

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "You can't prove the one in the photo was Ms. Cooper, however! You can only prove that someone who was wearing a dark hairband and a school jacket that day is being depicted."

"That's true," Robin nodded, "but tell me, Mr. Reed: how many of our witnesses can fit that description? You can rule out Inigo and Ross straight away, and we already have a myriad of reasons to doubt that either Morgan or Cath committed the crime, so there's no reason they'd have stolen the knife. Besides, isn't it a bit suspicious that Ms. Cooper decided to recant her confession only when the photo was brought up?"

"That's only speculation," the prosecutor dismissed, "you have no evidence directly linking Ms. Cooper to the crime."

"I believe I do," Robin shook his head, "but I've already succeeded in my primary purpose: this court can now be certain that only one of these confessions could possibly be true."

Lloyd pounded his desk, "D-Dammit!"

"But…!" Nino protested, "But I recanted my confession! Doesn't that mean that they all turned out to be false?"

The attorney shook his head again, "No, because I never had a chance to examine your confession—you're the only one who backed down early. In point of fact, Ms. Cooper, in recanting your confession, you've made yourself the only remaining suspect in this case!"

"Wh-What?!" she clenched her fists, "J-Judge! Tell him that's not true!"

"I'm afraid I find Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning to be entirely sound," said the judge.

"Huh? P-Prosecutor, say something! He's violating your terms, isn't he?" she demanded.

Lloyd Reed triangulated his posture on the girl, "He would have, if you hadn't opened your fool mouth. You've made your bed here, girl. I will continue to argue against your guilt, but I cannot refute Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning."

"H-Huh? What?" she looked around the room, "Th-This isn't right. Someone stop this sham of a trial!"

"Be silent!" Lloyd Reed struck Nino's mouth closed with his voice, "There's no use in raving like this anymore, you imbecile. If you want to halt the attorney in his tracks, then you need to testify. If your confession was false, then you must have an alibi, no? Tell the court about that."

"Ah!" she calmed down and glared at Robin, "R-Right. I do. Yes, of course." The girl began smiling and folded her arms, "I have an alibi, and I'll be happy to testify to it."

"Very well," the judge nodded, "Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not at this time, Your Honor," he replied.

"All right then," the judge swung his gavel, "Ms. Cooper, you may begin your testimony when you are ready."

Robin looked to his side. Morgan's eyes were wide as she leaned well over the defense bench.

"F-Fine," the girl grunted, "You want to accuse me of Ewan's murder? Ha! I never had a chance to kill him. I certainly never went into the men's room during the performance. Moreover, all of the evidence points away from me. Morgan has blood on her jacket, I don't. Morgan's prints were on the murder weapon, mine weren't. The simple fact is, there's absolutely no way I could have murdered Ewan, and on top of all that, why would I want to? Ewan was my friend! So, there you go: no motive, no means, no opportunity. How can you possibly accuse me now?"

"Thank you for your well-explained testimony, Ms. Cooper," the judge nodded.

"Indeed. Good work, lass," Lloyd complimented, "If you had been this smart before, we wouldn't even have this problem."

 _Leave it to Lloyd to lay on the backhanded compliments. Either way, I've got all the pieces now, including a suspect. All that's left to do is figure out how they fit together…_ "Ms. Cooper," Robin began, "you claim you couldn't have ever gone into the men's room. But if it wasn't you who entered the room, who could've placed that hair dye in the restroom? Remember, we proved in the last trial that it could only have been placed in the sink after the victim was killed, and only the killer could have left it there."

"W-Well, then it had to be Morgan," Nino answered.

"Why would Ms. Cassidy bring red hair dye into the bathroom and use it after the murder?" Robin tapped his forehead.

"I don't know, maybe it isn't her natural color!" the girl scoffed.

"Objection!" Robin turned around and saw Morgan's face becoming as red as her hair, "J-Just what are you implying? My hair's been this red since the day I was born! I have the baby pictures to prove it! Don't you dare impugn the honor of my perfectly beautiful ruby hair!"

"Either way," Lloyd interrupted her, "it's not the witness's job to disprove the defense's reasoning. You're the one who should be showing the court some evidence, Mr. LeBlanc."

"But the only reason that dye could be there is to frame Morgan!" Robin slapped his desk.

"Prove it," Lloyd shook his head.

"Argh," Robin scowled.

"What's the matter, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan tapped her finger on her chin, "You're going to refute that lie about me dyeing my hair, right?"

"That's… not really the crux of the issue here, Morgan. What is important, though, is that I don't have enough evidence to say for sure that Nino used that hair dye," he sighed.

"Well, why not try picking apart something else?" the girl shrugged, "She's lying, so there'll have to be cracks in there somewhere, right? And once you break through one, the others will all get deeper."

"Right," Robin stood back up and pondered a bit, _If Nino tried to frame Morgan, she did a bang-up job of it. There's evidence pointing to Morgan left and right, but that means there should be other places where we can find evidence of her involvement. …Wait, that's it! Could that explain…?_ "Ms. Cooper," Robin took a deep breath, "I want to remind you of some testimony you made in the previous trial. You told us that Morgan and Ewan had gotten into a fight because Morgan had been spreading a rumor that Ewan was gay, is that true?"

"Yeah… so?"

"So, interestingly, all your friends seemed to know very little about that rumor, other than the fact that they'd heard about it from Ewan or you. In fact, both Inigo and Ross testified that Ewan was quite popular with women."

Lloyd growled, "Oh, you are _not_ proposing what I think you're proposing…!"

"Looking back through Ewan's texts, we can see that you were also the first person to mention this rumor to him. And if we examine Morgan's texts…"

"N-N-No…!" Nino cringed, shutting her eyes.

"I'm confused, Mr. LeBlanc," the judge admitted, "What, exactly, are you suggesting?"

"Put simply," Robin smirked, "I believe there was no rumor regarding Mr. Allen's homosexuality, least of all one started by my client. Rather, I submit that the witness invented the rumor in order to make Mr. Allen and Ms. Cassidy come into conflict with one another!"

"No!" Nino shouted, slipping and falling back. She rubbed her head as she stood up.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "And just why does the defense think she would do something like that?"

"Why, to frame Ms. Cassidy for murder, of course," Robin grinned.

"Insanity!" Lloyd grunted, "That conflict occurred at least a week before the murder!"

Robin nodded, "Yes, meaning that Ms. Cooper premeditated her murder plan."

"And can you provide proof that Ms. Cooper arranged this conflict to frame the defendant?" the prosecutor went on.

"Ms. Cassidy," Robin turned to face her, "Do you remember physically assaulting the victim in the argument you had?"

"N-Not exactly. Things got heated, and then we got up in each other's faces, and then Nino tried to calm us both down… Ah! Do you think…?"

"So what if she doesn't remember?" Lloyd pounded a fist on his desk, "The defendant could easily be lying. This is no proof of anything!"

"Ms. Cassidy, are you right- or left-handed?"

"Uh, right-handed."

"And you were facing Ewan Allen head-on in this confrontation, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then why don't we check Mr. Allen's medical records?" Robin smirked, "If the defendant really did attack him and break his nose, as was claimed, then the greatest damage should be to his left nostril or right down the center of his nose, correct? That's where a right hook from the defendant would've hit."

"Argh!" Lloyd cursed.

"Th-This is stupid!" Nino cried.

 _This is it! I can't believe it! After all this time, I've finally got the means to put the nail in the coffin of this case._ "Furthermore," Robin held up one of his papers and offered it demonstrably, "If the defense's theory is correct and it was Nino Cooper who actually assaulted the victim, it would explain that all-too-perfect imperceptible smear of the victim's blood on Morgan's jacket: the dark fabric meant that Morgan failed to notice she was wearing evidence of a crime the very night that one would be committed!"

"Objection!" came a shout from over at the prosecution's bench, "That's quite enough of your sensationalism, Mr. LeBlanc. I grow very weary of your theatrics. You've done a lot of speculating for this court, and we're all very impressed, but you're still missing some very important details. In case you forgot, the witness already enumerated them for you: motive, means, and opportunity, defense. You haven't explained a single one—you've merely show that the witness might have help direct suspicion onto the defense."

"But why else would she—"

"Be silent!" Lloyd looked ready to fly over to the defense bench and lop Robin's head off, "It makes no difference. Your duty now is to give the court a plausible explanation for the involvement of another party which exonerates the defendant—no less. If you cannot prove that the witness had some way to kill the victim, then this trial is over!"

"S-Shoot…!" Robin doubled over, "How can I prove that when everything's been hidden so well…?"

"I'm afraid I must agree with Prosecutor Reed, Mr. Leblanc," the judge stroked his beard, "The whole point of suspending this trial was to give both counsels time to prepare their evidence. If you planned to indict Ms. Cooper, you must have evidence to support that claim. Do you have such evidence?"

"Erm, of course I do, Your Honor," Robin nodded. _At least, I sure as hell hope I do. Otherwise, I'm as good as sunk!_

"What do you think, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan was balling her fists with determination as she stared at him.

"Honestly… I'm not sure where to go," the attorney admitted, "Nino has been very clever. There's a lot about this case that's really ambiguous—I'm sure that something is wrong, but I just can't say for sure who or what is responsible. There must be something that has only one point of contact in this case, something that could only possibly lead to one person…"

"Something that could only lead to one person, huh?" Morgan looked to the ceiling and stroked her chin, "I don't know, I'm drawing a blank."

Robin's eyes widened for a moment, then he looked back to Morgan, "Ross's talking about his father receiving gifts… It gave me an idea. Didn't you mention something special you gave Nino way back when I first questioned you?"

"Huh?" Morgan blinked, "Something special? You're being too vague, Mr. LeBlanc—I don't know what you mean."

"Think, Morgan," Robin encouraged her, "you told me you gave Nino something that only you could give her, isn't that right?"

"But I didn't give her any presents, unless… Oh. Oh! OH!" she shouted.

"Ahem!" the judge coughed, "If the defense is quite finished filling the air with its outbursts, perhaps in could instead fill it with evidence."

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin nodded, "The evidence that proves that Nino Cooper could have murdered Ewan Allen… is not in the defense's possession."

"Hah!" Lloyd shouted with extreme felicity, "I knew it! So ends the reign of the great attorney Robin LeBlanc! Don't be too broken up, Mr. LeBlanc—it happens to all lawyers eventually. In fact, you should be glad to get your first loss out of the way early."

"Let me finish, Mr. Reed," Robin squared his shoulders against his opponent, "The evidence isn't in the defense's possession, because it belongs to the witness!"

"W-What?!" Lloyd doubled over onto his desk.

Robin smirked, "I give Ms. Cooper credit: she did an immaculate job of tying up the loose ends, or, otherwise, leaving them loose enough that they don't point to anyone in particular. She's finally met her match, however, because I know there is one item in her possession that solves one of the biggest points of contention in this whole case!"

"And just what is that, you arrogant attorney?" the green-haired girl scowled at him.

"The cast you made of all your friends' hands," Robin folded his arms.

"W-W-What?!" she slipped and fell once more. Upon standing, her hair was in disarray and all semblance of composure had vanished from her face, "How did you know about that?! Uh, I mean—oops!"

"Oops, indeed," Robin continued, "Ms. Cassidy told me that a week before the performance, you had her and all of your friends make plaster casts of their hands as a way to remember them. From such a detailed replica, you could have easily copied the defendant's fingerprints, and then used them on a pair of specialized gloves while handling the murder weapon, which would explain why Morgan's prints weren't on the door but were on the weapon, and, more importantly, would isolate you as the one and only person as being capable of making them!"

"Ahhhh!" Nino shriveled and hid herself.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "The mere possibility is not sufficient evidence, Mr. LeBlanc. How can you possibly prove that Ms. Cooper used such gloves?"

"Unfortunately, that evidence cannot be shown," Robin shook his head.

"As I thought, now, will you stop your jabbering and—"

"You really must let me finish my sentences," Robin thrust out his index finger, "The gloves cannot be entered into evidence because the witness disposed of them in her fireplace!"

"H-How's that?!" Lloyd grunted.

"I visited the witness's home when I was looking for more information, and there I smelled a strange odor. When I investigated the scent, the house's caretaker, Mr. Libra Concordia, told me that pranksters had thrown rotten eggs or sulfur into his chimney. If that was the case, however, then the material should have burned up and the smell should have been reduced. Upon further investigation, I found a scrap of rubber in the fireplace, accounting for the smell, and the appearance of our mystery prankster: Mr. Concordia never would have conceived that one of his own children would be the cause!"

"Th-That's not truuuuuuuuue!" Nino squirmed.

"Oh no?" Robin smirked, "Then, tell me, Ms. Cooper: where else could the rubber have come from?"

"I… I don't," she was grinding her teeth, "It must have… ooh!"

Robin folded his arms, "When you saw Morgan go to the bathroom, you left, too—no one could account for your whereabouts at the time because all eyes were on stage, right? So you went to the men's room while Morgan looked around and lay in wait for Mr. Allen. When he came in, you leapt out, surprised him with the knife while wearing the gloves, and then killed him. Afterward, you used the hair dye to make your illusion complete, catching Inigo's attention and then ducking out of the club before your crime was discovered. You returned home, washed out the dye, burned the gloves, and then returned to the club to make it appear as though you had never left while everyone was distracted with the discovery of the body! Isn't that the truth?!"

"S-S-Stooooooooooop!" she wailed.

"W-Wait just a minute!" Lloyd snarled, "This… this is all mere conjecture! Why in the _world_ would Ms. Cooper kill one of her friends and blame another? It makes no sense whatsoever!"

Robin nodded, "It took me a while to discern that one, too, but I think I have a satisfactory answer." The attorney held up a photograph.

"Is that… the photo of the victim's circle of friends that was found in his jacket pocket?" the judge blinked.

"That's right," said Robin, "Recalling the statements of all of the victim's friends, something occurred to me: the only one of them who didn't have plans after leaving school was Nino Cooper, the most educationally successful one of them all—now, how does that make any sense?"

"H-Hey!" the girl shouted, "You leave my grades outta this, lawyer!"

"My next clue," Robin went on, unperturbed, "came when I visited the witness's home. Her mother, Mrs. Sonia Verdun is a very… competitive woman, and she's especially concerned with her daughter and her performance. She's so strict, in fact, that we might reasonably expect that it affected her daughter's social life."

"Where is this going, you fool?!" Lloyd was practically foaming at the mouth.

Robin took another deep breath and looked Nino straight in the eyes, "Nino. Tell the court the truth: you were scared your only friends would leave you, so you killed Ewan to make sure they would all stay together, didn't you?"

"Of all the ridiculous!" Lloyd punched his desk, "Unsubstantiated! Ham-fisted! _Insulting_ explanations I've ever heard!"

"…Yes," Nino sobbed.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-WHAAAAAAAAAT?!" Lloyd's eyes ballooned and he stumbled back, clutching his chest.

Nino pulled her hairband down and let her locks flow forward. Some of the curly bangs that dropped down were orange and yellow, hurriedly tucked behind her ears and into her 'do. As she sobbed, she held up a crumpled copy of the same photo that had been brought into evidence. "Everything Mr. LeBlanc has said is true. I… I can't hide it any longer. My mother… she pushed me so hard, and I was scared… I… didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't want my friends to leave. I thought… maybe a tragedy could make them all stay. At first, I thought I'd kill Morgan for all the trouble she gave me—not even trying and getting grades almost as high as me, how dare she! But… then I realized that everyone would blame me if I did that, so I made a new plan: I would kill another of our friends and blame it on her, that way everyone left would despise her and stay close with me."

"This is… unbelievable," the judge remarked.

"I took the casts of everyone's hands," Nino went on, "and, well, you heard the rest from Mr. LeBlanc. I killed Ewan, planting Morgan's prints on the knife, then took off his jacket and threw it in the trash… I did everything I could to implicate Morgan. But I guess I failed."

Morgan sniffled, "Nino… why didn't you just talk to us? We could have fixed this? It didn't have to end up like… this."

"Morgan…" the green-haired girl stared back at her, "I know these words mean nothing now, but, for whatever little it's worth, at least for my own sake, I have to say, I'm sorry. I was so frightened, and I didn't want my mother to ruin all that we had together, all of us. I just felt like there was nowhere I could turn."

The judge shook his head, "Well, I think we can safely say that this trial has reached its end. Unless either counsels have any objections, I am prepared to confer with the jury to arrive at a verdict."

"No objections, Your Honor," Robin breathed for the first time in what seemed like quite a while.

Lloyd Reed had completely vanished from the prosecution's desk.

"Well," the judge blinked a few times, "I'll have to have a chat with Prosecutor Reed about proper courtroom etiquette. For now, however, I will take this to mean there are no objections." The judge began to sidle over to the jury box, where he spoke to the jurors.

Robin glanced over his shoulder, "Morgan, is everything all right?"

"Huh?" she looked to each side as if someone had tapped her on the back, "Sorry, I'm… still kinda thinking my way through this, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _I guess that's pretty understandable_ , Robin thought, _After all, given what_ I _went through… I don't know how I'd react if the situation had been like this_.

The judge resumed his position at the bench, "As you can probably guess by the speed of our deliberations, this court unanimously finds the defendant, Morgan Cassidy… Not Guilty. This court is adjourned!"

A few cheers and exhausted sighs of relief sounded through the court. Robin smiled, picked up his things, and exited the courtroom with Morgan slowly plodding along one step behind him.

[October 21st, 2:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin sat down on the sofa and exhaled, "What a fight. I almost can't believe it's over."

"Me neither," Morgan eventually plopped down beside him, "I'm… sorry for almost sabotaging my own defense, Mr. LeBlanc. And I'm glad that you were there to finish defending me."

"Oh, no worries, Morgan," he smiled, "I respect your dedication to your friends. I can't rightly say I would have acted any differently if it were me."

"So you told me," she giggled.

"Morgie-worgie!" Eirika Verlain ran up and ensnared the little redhead in a tight hug, "Oh, my precious Morgan! I'm so glad you're coming back home! I just knew they'd have to see it your way."

"Thanks, mom," she smiled broadly, "I'll be happy to come home, too."

"And…" the aqua-haired woman relinquished her daughter, "I suppose I owe you a big thanks, too, Mr. LeBlanc. If it weren't for you, my little Morgie would be singing the jailbird's song. You proved that you're worthy of succeeding my father."

Robin blushed, "Ah, that's a bit much, perhaps. After all, Morgan was abundantly involved in her own defense. Without her, I don't know what I would have done."

"Well, I think you've earned your stripes, anyway," she flashed him a big smile, then turned back to Morgan, "Ready to go home, sweetie?"

Morgan's expression was mixed, "Um… not just yet. Can I wait here a bit longer?"

Eirika's eyes went wide, "Oh. Um, of course, do as you will."

"Thanks," Morgan said, "it shouldn't take long."

As if on cue, Inigo, Ross, and Cath all spilled into the defense lobby, along with Nino, who was being led out in handcuffs. "Everyone," the green-haired girl turned to them, "I know it's impossible to forgive what I've done, but… my conscience will never be clear unless I tell you all that I'm sorry. I only did it out of love for all of you, as twisted an expression of love as it was."

"Don't you dare speak to us of love, you scheming bitch!" Cath growled.

"How dare you go after poor ol' Morg like that! Not to mention you axed little Ewy! How can you expect us to take your apology seriously?" Ross joined her.

"Nino… I forgive you," Morgan sighed.

"What?" the others jumped in unison.

"But Morgan, she killed Ewan and pinned the blame on you! How can you say that?" Inigo demanded.

Morgan nodded, "Nino did some awful things, but that's for her to live and cope with on her own terms. For my part… well, it's not like I'll ever be able to forget about what she did, but I want to be able to remember the Nino Cooper who hung out with us drinking fruit juice in the diners after school, and who helped all of us on those tricky assignments, and who played the violin for us late at night when we all slept over together… That's the Nino I want to keep on knowing."

"Morgan…" Nino teared up and buried her head, "Morgan, someday, if I ever get out of prison, I don't think there's anything I could ever do to make this all up to you, to repay you the kindness you've given me, but, if there is… you can bet nothing will stop me from making it happen."

"Hahaha!" Morgan giggled, "There's that fierce determination I remember from our spelling bees. I'll come visit you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," she was led away, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Thank you, Morgan."

Robin smiled even wider as Morgan sat back down next to him. "You have some really amazing friends, Morgan," he said.

"Trust me, I know," she grinned at each of them, "And I know that wherever life takes us, we're always gonna stay close."

"No doubt," Cath grinned.

"You got it," Ross gave a thumbs-up.

"Naturally," Inigo bowed.

"Ya know, maybe we were a little harsh on Nino. I'm still pissed, but she didn't deserve that. Mind if I join you when you visit her, Morgan?" asked Cath.

"Of course not," she smiled, "I'd be happy to have you."

"Then I simply must tag along," Inigo nodded.

"Count me in," Ross affirmed,

"Heehee," Morgan giggled, "you guys. Just don't be late, all right?"

They expressed their agreement and said their goodbyes.

When the trio of friends departed, Eirika turned to Morgan, "Well, all set then, sweetheart?"

"Actually, I wanted to discuss something, mom."

"Can it wait until we get back?"

"Not exactly. I think I've figured out what I want to study now that I've graduated."

"Really? And what's that?"

The little redheaded girl stepped in front of Robin, who started up from his lounging position, "Er, yes?"

"Mr. LeBlanc, I was wondering if you'd be willing to take me on as your student."

"My student?" Robin exclaimed, "Morgan, I'm just a rookie, myself. I'm sure there are people more qualified to teach you."

"Maybe, but I like the way you look at things, Mr. LeBlanc," she smiled, "in the same way I like the way Fado—er, my grandpa thought about things. I don't want anyone teaching me but him or his disciples, and that leaves only you."

 _Decision by default. How reassuring_. "Well, I'm not really sure what to say, Morgan. How do you feel about it, Eirika?"

Eirika tapped her finger on her chin, "Hmm… Morgan is legally an adult, so she can choose to pursue whatever she wants… However, she will need a legal guardian in the event she has a problem, and I can only provide financial support to the kids up until they're eighteen… I think you'd be a good candidate to be her new guardian, Mr. LeBlanc. With that feisty secretary of yours, I think she'd be in a great environment with good male and female role models."

Robin blinked, "You're asking me if I want to adopt her?"

"Basically," Eirika Verlaine shrugged.

Morgan balled her fists, "Don't worry, though! I won't be a mooch! I'm a hard worker! Give me any task and I'll get it done! I'll clean the dishes, and the toilets, and the carpets, and the walls—anything to make it worth your while!"

"All right, all right," Robin put his hands out, "please, spare me the sales pitch. If Fado Verlaine's own daughter is asking me to take care of you, I can't very well say no, can I?"

"So you'll let me?" She jumped up, "YES! Oh, thank you so much, Boss! I promise to work and study like crazy!"

"Easy!" Robin tried to calm her down as she began to run laps around the room, "Let's talk about this whole 'Boss' thing…"

_And that was the story of how I met my irreplaceable understudy. She would follow alongside me in the cases to come, and the asset she became would be invaluable during those trials. Of course, big questions still sat in my head about Sonia Verdun and why she had been so ardent about keeping me off the trail of her daughter. At the time, it seemed like one of those things that mortals just aren't meant to know. Later cases would convince me otherwise, however…_

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial Day 2-End]


	13. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Former

[October 28th, 8:36 am, Detention Center]

Robin LeBlanc dug his hand into his pocket, watching the conversation. It wasn't his right to say anything at the moment, but he felt certain Morgan would want to speak when it was over.

Nino Cooper's blue eyes were small and tight under her emerald-green hair, but they were currently being pushed up by a smile. Her hairband had been removed for the moment, and the long curls of green cascaded down her face, some in wiry strands that showed she hadn't had a chance to straighten them since going to sleep. Her face wasn't one of fear, however—it was relief. Her cheeks were easier, softer, and her hands were no longer balled up with knuckle-pulling fury, they rested limply on the table in front of her as she spoke.

For her part, Morgan's face was also easy, showing little other than a reflection of Nino's smile. Her eyebrows weren't even arched to show some kind of curiosity. Looking at the two of them, it would be easy to think that their conversation was on an entirely innocent subject, something like their schoolwork—it passed along that easily. No uninformed observer would ever guess this was the exchange of a girl who was speaking to a friend who had killed one of their mutual friends in cold blood and blamed it on her.

Robin scratched his chin idly. He had followed Nino's trial through the papers: the attorney who defended her had dug into Nino's personal life, against Sonia Verdun's strict wishes, and found a history of abuse from her former caretaker. On a plea of insanity, Nino Cooper had been committed to an asylum until she turned thirty, whereupon she would be granted limited probation.

Robin looked back down and saw tears welling in Nino's eyes. Her voice was getting raspy, and she had trouble speaking to Morgan. Morgan was understanding. Her smile was gone: it had glazed over into a more contemplative look. She listened to what Nino was saying as if making a mental checklist. When Nino had finished, Morgan said her goodbyes and tapped Robin on the arm to indicate she was ready to go. He uttered a hurried wish that Nino would get the help she needed and started walking out toward his car, palming his keys.

When they both had settled in and Robin had started the engine, he looked over at Morgan, scrutinizing her. "I'm surprised," he said, forgetting that she didn't know what he was thinking, "about your attitude, I mean. Not many people would face a friend's killer with such… forgiveness."

"It's not worth being angry," Morgan said, "I knew what was happening to Nino. She wouldn't say it outright, but there were always little glimpses about what Sonia was doing to her. Bruises and stuff. She never talked about them, but I had a feeling."

"Still, I know there are a lot of people who don't think insanity offers much closure. I imagine it doesn't sit well with you."

"It doesn't," Morgan answered, folding her arms, "but there's no use putting that on her. She was my friend for years on end, but she's different now. She had no idea what she was doing. I believe that, and I have to make peace with it."

Robin's mouth turned up into a smirk as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Hard to believe you're the same girl who burst into my office just over a week ago. You hardly seemed sure of anything then."

"I'm still not. But I learn quickly. So I've been told, anyway."

"Well, I'm not in much of a position to judge, but I'd say you've had enough shows of emotional maturity for one day. Wanna get something to eat?"

"That sounds great." She turned to face him, her cheeks widening into a smile. "What did you have in mind?"

"You pick."

"Oh, and will Miss Anna join us?"

"Huh? Oh, I think Anna's busy balancing our books. She never wants anything when I offer, anyway. You don't have to call her 'miss,' by the way. I don't think she likes it. Makes her feel old."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

"And that's another thing…"

[October 28th, 11:42 am, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The door swung open, and Morgan was the first to enter, brushing past her new guardian to flop down onto the sofa. Robin walked in behind her rubbing his neck. Anna spun around in her chair to wave to him. "I take it things went well?"

"Nino's doing all right," Morgan answered for them both, "she's going to get help. Everyone else has already visited her, too. It's gonna take time, but I think we're going to get past this."

"I'm glad to see you bouncing back a little, kiddo," said Anna, now rising from her desk. "It was pretty sad to watch you go from off-the-walls energetic to betrayed depression in a few days."

"We've all run a few emotional gamuts the past couple of days," said Robin, "I think it'll do us all some good to relax a bit."

Morgan smiled at that, but Anna was less pleased. She scowled at the young attorney. "Is that your way of trying to get out of work? You know we're still in some pretty serious debt."

"And I'm working on that," he replied, rubbing his neck again, "but, see, it's been tricky with everything that's happened and… well, you know, everything's been so quick and touch-and-go, how could I ever… uh…"

Anna rolled her eyes. "I can move some funds around, but we're going to need to actually address this problem soon, or this office is as good as closed."

"Can I help?" Morgan asked, looking up at both of them and balling her fists.

"Nah." Robin tilted his head. "This is just money stuff. Nothing you need to be worried about."

"Hey, if we've got a new employee, we might as well give her at least a few duties, right?" Anna interrupted him, "Whaddya know about balancing checkbooks, kid?"

"Uh, nothing, I guess," Morgan answered.

"Anna, be reasonable," said Robin, "she's fresh out of high school. How about this, Morgan: I have some big files full of names on the shelf in my office, could you reorder them alphabetically by last name?"

"Right!" She gave him a firm salute with a twinkle in her eye and jumped off the couch into the other room.

Anna waited another moment before raising an eyebrow at her employer: "What in the world do you need your profiles alphabetized for?"

"Never hurts to have a system," he replied, smiling, "plus, that was the first thing Fado had me do when I started working here. It took hours."

"Oh, right." Anna folded her arms and thought back briefly to the fresh-faced attorney who'd entered the office that day. His hair was shorter back then, and a little darker. His eyes had been just as sparkly as Morgan's were a minute ago, and he had had trouble getting the door open, clutching some massive legal books to his chest. She was certain at the time that he'd never read them before, but since he'd started working, she had seen him work his way through them all. In a lot of ways, he had been just as eager and energetic as Morgan, though less excitable and more clumsy. That was always his way. She recalled once having to hold a tissue under his nose and a compress to his head as he had somehow managed to trip over the rug and fall face-first into Fado's desk. She found herself giggling at the memory.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Your face," she answered honestly.

"Beg pardon?"

"Just yanking your chain. I'm thinking about how much she reminds me of you when you first got here."

"Me? Hah! I was a consummate professional, I'll have you know."

"Robin, I was there. I remember the Great Sandwich Debacle, and similar ventures."

"Look, if Fado was going to bring the same type of sandwich for lunch, the least he could've done is labeled it and—er, that's all in the past! I got work done, that's all there is to it."

"Yeah, you were a real ace," she said, rolling her eyes, "Right up through your first… er, ahem." She paused to clear her throat. "Uh, never mind."

Robin's face dropped. "Hm? What were you thinking about?"

"No, I'm sorry." Anna shook her head as if to dismiss the thought. "I shouldn't have said anything." She ran her hand along her desk, grabbing a photo that Robin hadn't noticed up to that moment. "It was just with this stupid thing, I was thinking about…"

"What's that?" He looked curiously at the photo and took a step toward her.

Anna frowned at it and offered it to him. "Some lady came by yesterday while you were getting lunch, said she was returning stolen property to you."

"'Stolen property?'" he repeated, "And you're just telling me now?"

"Look, it's not…" She sighed in frustration. "Just look at the damned thing."

He did so. The photo was of a woman with fuchsia hair giving the camera a polite smile. She was dressed in a smart-looking black suit with a white shirt underneath and no tie. A gold chain hung around her neck, and, as Robin looked more closely, he realized that she had a beauty mark under her bottom lip and one of her bangs was nearly covering her right eye. The face was vaguely familiar, but it became a little too familiar when he read the name beneath the photo: Leila Viscount. He flipped the photo over and handed it back to Anna. "Sorry. You made the right call. I don't want to see this thing."

"Sorry to dredge it up," she said, taking it back.

"Who did you say brought it here?"

"I didn't get her name. Just some blonde lady. Knocked on the door, asked for you. I said you were out, she gave the photo to me, called it 'stolen property,' and then winked at me and left. Really weird exchange, upon retrospect."

"Blonde, huh? I wonder…"

Anna laughed a little. "Something I should know about? Are you seeing someone new?"

"Hardly. If it's who I'm thinking of, I'm not really her type."

"What, she doesn't like lawyers?"

"Partly. I think she's more into cute redheaded secretaries, though."

Anna blinked. "Oh."

"Hey, Boss," Morgan announced herself as she stepped out of his office, "What do you want me to do with this paper on your desk?"

"What?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I don't think I left any papers on my desk."

"Well, there's this," said Morgan, waving the paper in her hand at him, "It looks like all the other ones in those files. See? It has the name up top and everything."

Robin took the document and read it, seeing that everything was as Morgan said it was. He scowled at the paper and crushed it into a ball, then marched over to the trash can and threw it violently down.

Anna and Morgan both watched with frowns: Anna's sad, Morgan's perplexed.

"Is this a joke?" Robin glared at Anna. "Because if it is, it's not funny."

"What? I didn't even see the damn thing."

"That," he looked back at the trash can, "and the photo you just showed me… is it some kind of prank? It's in really bad taste, Anna."

"It wasn't!" she protested, "Robin, look at me. I know how serious that case is to you. Why would I ever joke about it?"

He sighed. "No, I guess you wouldn't. But how did it get on my desk? I sure as hell didn't put it there."

"I don't know."

"What about the blonde? Did you let her into the office at all?"

"No, never. She never got past the door."

"Then something doesn't make sense."

"Er, none of this makes sense," said Morgan, "Why did you get so angry over a dumb piece of paper, Boss?"

He looked down at her. "Right. Maybe that wasn't the best behavior for your new guardian. Uh, well, Morgan, that paper is a profile on somebody I don't like very much. Somebody who was involved in my very first trial as an attorney."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Your first trial? What was it about? What happened?"

"Morgan, hon, this isn't something Robin really likes to talk about…"

Robin closed his eyes. "No, I'll tell her. This is something she deserves to know about, working for me. And, to be honest, with what happened in that last trial, it's probably best that I face it. Can't ignore these things forever."

"The last trial?" Morgan wondered aloud, pinching her chin, "Oh! Is this about the part where you passed out?"

"Yeah," said Robin, dragging it out with a long breath, "Why don't you come sit in my office with me? Anna, when you get a chance, please bring us some tea. This is going to take a while."

"I guess we weren't going to get any work done today anyway." The secretary shrugged.

Robin walked into the office with Morgan and sat down at his chair. His junior employee grabbed the seat on the other side of the desk that was usually reserved for clients and propped herself up. Robin took a set of folders down from the shelf behind him and spread them out across the dark wood of the desk. He opened up one and began to root around through its contents. "Now," he said aloud, "like I said, this was my first trial in Fado's employ, so I was pretty nervous. He was there to help me, thankfully, but it was a pretty high-profile case. I'm still not exactly sure why he chose to give it to me…"

[*]

[Three years ago… April 17th, 10:08 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

"Because, Mr. LeBlanc, I trust you. I think you're perfectly capable."

"Okay, fine, you trust me," said the sweating Robin LeBlanc, "put me on a shoplifting case, or something! This? This is… I don't know what it is. Insanity comes to mind."

"Relax, Mr. LeBlanc," Fado told him, folding his arms, "What is your client going to think if he sees you panicking like that?"

"Probably the same thing he thought when he learned he wasn't going to be defended by the famous Fado Verlaine, but by an understudy with no court experience," Robin answered.

Fado threw his head back in a laugh: "Ha ha ha! You always could give me a good chuckle, son. At least you've got the client's feelings in mind. But despairing certainly isn't going to make your situation any better. It's about time you straightened up that back and got yourself ready. The trial will be starting soon."

"Not helping," replied the young attorney.

"Let's see if you did your homework," said Fado with an evaluative glare, "You read the case brief, didn't you? Remind me of the facts of the case."

"There wasn't much in there," Robin answered, "The defendant, Pelleas Apoleus, is charged with first-degree murder. The victim, a Miss Leila Viscount, was eating lunch with him in a café when it happened."

"The cause of death?"

"Poisoning, according to the coroner. The victim ingested a small but lethal dose of cyanide that killed her instantly. The cup her drink was served in that afternoon tested positive for traces of cyanide, so it was probably slipped in there."

"So, why did they arrest Mr. Apoleus?"

"He was sitting at the table with the victim. He had the biggest window of opportunity. There were also some rumors about enmity between the two, but no one on the investigative committee commented on that."

"Anything else stick out to you?"

"Well, there was a power outage cause by a storm that day. It happened at 3:53 pm, according to the café's staff. Ms. Viscount was found dead after the power was restored minutes later."

"Good bit of showmanship, that. Raise the curtain of darkness, _et voila! La dame, elle est morte! Quelle horreur bizarre!_ "

"This isn't going to go very far if I can't understand you, sir."

"It's all very theatrical. I'm glad you noticed how strange it is. Good. You seem to have done your due diligence, Mr. LeBlanc. Hopefully that will translate to good results in court today."

"H-Hopefully?" Robin shuddered.

"You'll do fine," said Fado, slinging his arm around his protégé, "Now, let's get in there. They'll be waiting for us."

"H-Hang on a second!" Robin protested, "What about speaking to my client?"

"Not a lot of time for that, son," his mentor said, folding his arms, "The courts in this country don't make many allowances for suspected criminals. We've done the necessary amount of prep, though. If you remember everything I've taught you, you'll do all right. Plus, I'll be there the whole time."

"I'm still not sure I'm ready."

"There's no need to doubt yourself, Robin. I know I don't."

Robin nodded. "Yes, sir."

[April 17th, 10:28 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Robin's mind tuned out the idle chatter of the gallery who were watching him enter. He concentrated on the large shadow cast by the warm gold lights in the ceiling being blocked by the elevated judge's bench. Feeling a hand over his shoulder, he let himself be led to the defense's bench by his mentor, and placed a few files on the desk, as did Fado. He looked across to the other side of the room for the first time and noticed a woman staring back at him, a disapproving look on her face. Her hair was indigo, almost purplish, and her eyes were about the same—the color of night skies. She wore a pair of gold earrings—not unlike Anna's, Robin realized—and navy-blue suit that fit her figure closely, but not in such a way that it seemed deliberate. She seemed to frown even more deeply when she saw him observing her dress. The woman picked up a file from the bench before her as well as a pair of silver-rimmed glasses and looked down, covering her face and body from him. Robin shrugged and pulled his tie a little tighter.

"I'll be damned," said Fado with a whisper of laughter, "Bringing out the big guns, are they?"

Robin turned to ask him what he meant, but at that moment, the sound of the judge's gavel brought his attention to the back of the room again.

"Silence, order, please," said the judge, clearing his throat. "Good morning, all. This court will now convene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus. Are both counsels prepared?"

"As ever, Your Honor," said the purple-haired woman.

"Ah, Ms. Verra," the judge exclaimed, "It has been a minute since you were last in my humble court, hasn't it?"

"It has. I don't often return to the steps I've climbed, but I make allowances when it's necessary," she replied.

"Ursula Verra," Fado whispered to Robin, "She's a state prosecutor now. I had a few run-ins with her when she was just a young thing… Be careful, my boy. She doesn't tolerate any nonsense."

_A state prosecutor? For my first trial?! Oh, I am so totally out of my depth, here!_

"And it is quite necessary, hm?" said the judge, reading over the case brief on his desk, "We have a very serious case on our hands, as I understand it."

"Yes, Your Honor," Ursula Verra answered.

"Now then," the judge digressed, "are you prepared, Mr. Robin… LeBlank?"

"Er, with all respect to Your Honor, it's pronounced 'LeBlanc.'"

"Of course, my apologies. Now, I understand that this is your first trial, Mr. LeBlanc. Is that true?"

"It is, Your Honor."

"Very good. No need to be intimidated, then. We are only interested in pursuing and teasing out the truth here, as I'm sure your employer, Mr. Verlaine, has told you."

"I gave him the rundown, Your Honor. Not to worry." Fado smiled at the judge.

"And do you feel prepared, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Yes, sir. Er, Your Honor. I'm ready to begin."

"Good. Then this trial is officially in session." The judge swung his gavel. "Now, how do you plead, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"So be it. Ms. Verra, I imagine you have an opening statement prepared?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Ursula Verra said, stepping forward from her bench and speaking to the entire court. "At four o'clock in the afternoon on April tenth, the defendant, Mr. Pelleas Apoleus, was apprehended following the death of the victim, Ms. Leila Viscount. The two had been lunching together at a local café. The day was a dark and stormy one, and, at one point, the building's power went out, causing the lights to dim. Minutes later, when the power was restored, the victim fell dead. An autopsy revealed that the victim had most likely ingested cyanide, meaning that she was poisoned. There was no evidence to suggest that the victim might have accidentally ingested the cyanide, leading the police department to conclude that this was a homicide. The victim's cup was also tested and confirmed for traces of cyanide, further suggesting the poisoning was deliberate. Ultimately, the police reached the conclusion that Mr. Apoleus poisoned the victim by introducing cyanide to her drink during the blackout. In the absence of any evidence to refute this conclusion, the state has concurred with this opinion."

_Well, Fado wasn't kidding about her being no-nonsense. That sounded like it was ripped straight from a newspaper._

"Did the state determine a motive for the defendant, Ms. Verra?" asked the judge.

Ursula nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. As it turns out, the defendant is Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia. He was to be receiving some important information from the victim, an agent of the Plegian government, but, according to a few witness testimonies, the deal went sour at some point in the middle of the meal. We strongly suspect that it was at that moment that the defendant decided to commit the murder. At the court's request, the state is prepared to provide witnesses and physical evidence to support all of the conclusions made thus far. In short, there can be no doubt as to the truth of this case. Nothing further."

"Thank you, Ms. Verra," said the judge, leaning back into his chair, "I believe it is in the court's best interest to hear of this physical evidence. Could you please present it?"

"The evidence will be shown to the court by the investigating detective on the scene," Ursula told him, "Mr. Mordel, would you be so kind?"

A man with pale hair walked slowly up to the stand. His hair wasn't quite gray, but it wasn't dark enough to be considered brown—it was a kind of puce. His eyes were small and narrow as he took his place at the stand, dressed in a long coat that was only a little darker than his hair. A red scarf was folded neatly under his collar. He jammed one hand into his pocket and glared at everyone in the room to ensure that they knew he was unhappy to be in their presence.

Only Ursula seemed able to ignore the tense atmosphere: "Your name and occupation for the record, detective."

"Volke Mordel," he answered, "I'm a detective, like you just said. Shall we get on with it?"

"Let's. Tell the court about what you and your men discovered that will prove the defendant's guilt."

"Right. So, here's the long and short of it: the defendant and victim were seated at the same table the whole time, right up until the murder. We have witnesses who can confirm their positions, as well as some security footage of the moments before the blackout. Of course, the camera cut out as soon as the lights did, but it was impossible for anyone else to have poisoned the victim's drink: both of the café's waitstaff were still serving tables right before the blackout, so they would've known if anyone moved afterward. When the defendant was arrested, he had traces of cyanide on his cuff. Similar tests were applied to the waitstaff in the condition that they were discovered, but they turned up negative, meaning neither of them could have done it. Not to mention, the defendant had a vial of hydrogen cyanide in his pocket when he was arrested. The only remaining possibility is that the defendant was at fault."

"Thank you for that highly succinct testimony, detective," said the judge. Volke simply continued to project an unamused glare at the court. "And now I believe Mr. LeBlanc has the opportunity to cross-examine the detective."

Robin swallowed hard and looked over at his mentor. "Fado," he said, "what do I do? I don't think the detective was lying anywhere, and his logic is sound, so what can I say?"

"Don't panic just yet, son," said Fado, "it's much too early. The detective's thinking isn't as perfect as it sounds. Slow down, and try to think about what might not be apparent in the detective's statement. Or just ask about something—either way, you're sure to get more information."

"All right." Robin took a deep breath. "Mister… er, that is, Detective Mordel, I'm afraid I don't know much about toxicology. Can you tell me how someone might be able to put cyanide in a drink without someone noticing?"

Volke stared back at Robin, but, for a moment, Robin thought he could see the detective smiling a little under his scarf. "Cyanide is a very versatile poison. It can be procured in liquid and gaseous forms, as well as salts."

"It's in _salt_?!" Robin started.

"No, no. _Salts_. As in solid compounds of small crystals."

"O-Okay…"

"In brief, cyanide stops the body from producing the energy it needs to function, so a high enough dose basically guarantees instantaneous death. No fuss. In this case, it was most likely introduced to the victim's drink as a liquid, making it hard to detect."

"Is there any reason it couldn't have been the solid form?"

"Not that I can offer evidence for, no. Cyanide has a melting point of around seven degrees Fahrenheit, though. So, if it was placed in, say, coffee, it probably wouldn't stay solid for very long, anyway."

"Well… that told me nothing." Robin frowned.

"On the contrary," Fado leaned his head back for another laugh, "that was quite the interesting chemistry lesson!"

"Um, so, you say you found traces of cyanide on the defendant's cuff?" Robin continued, facing the detective again.

"That's right. Chemicals can be applied to material like the defendant's shirt to test for substances—they change color if they find even small traces of the substance. The defendant's cuff tested positive for cyanide."

"Is it possible that some of the cyanide might have gotten onto the defendant's cuff by accident?"

"Not likely. For starters, we've already abundantly proven that no one else was moving at the time. For another, even if it were an accident, had liquid cyanide touched the defendant's skin, well… there's a good chance he'd be a victim, too. But, if he noticed it right away, he could do something like turn the cuff inside-out to prevent it from bleeding through the fabric onto him."

"Damn," Robin cursed, "this is getting us nowhere."

"Easy, Robin," Fado said, looking straight ahead, "Take your time."

"Let's see… how about the cameras? You said they cut out when the blackout happened, but the murder happened after the blackout, so how can you be so sure no one else approached the victim?"

"I have the sworn testimony of everyone in the room at the time. Only servers were still moving after the blackout, and there's no reason to suspect either of them."

"But… it was dark, so couldn't someone have missed something?"

"'Someone?' 'Something?'" Ursula Verra sighed, "Mr. LeBlanc, I understand that this is your first trial, but if you are going to make claims, they must be specific and supported by evidence."

"R-Right. Um… detective, about the vial of cyanide… did it have any fingerprints on it?"

"Nope. The vial seems to have been wiped clean."

"Don't you think it's a little strange that the defendant would just keep such an incriminating piece of evidence on his person? Why not just throw it away, or something?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say he had it figured that people were going to realize he and Ms. Viscount had been sitting together the whole time, and that they'd eventually put two and two together. He probably figured that it was safer to hold onto the thing than just leave it out in the open for anyone to find."

"That's pretty prescient of him. Wait a minute… yeah, prescient… Just a second: detective, I have another question."

"Hm?"

"You say the murder was committed after the blackout, and the defendant was the only one who could have done it in that time, but then… why?"

"…I don't follow."

"I'm saying, if Mr. Apoleus was planning to murder Ms. Viscount, why did he wait for the blackout? Did he know there was going to be a blackout?"

"H-Huh?" The detective's eyes sunk.

"It's more likely that the defendant planned to murder Ms. Viscount no matter what, and the blackout provided a convenient opportunity," Ursula said, "It's really nothing so complex."

"But how else would he have done it? He couldn't have poisoned her drink right in front of her, and even if she got up to use the restroom or something, there were still plenty of witnesses around who could have seen him do it," Robin replied.

Ursula Verra shrugged. "This conversation is irrelevant speculation. Unless you can provide proof that this question of yours changes the meaning of all the other evidence."

Robin thought, and when he was done thinking, he turned to his mentor. "I can't do that, can I?"

"You'd have to be a smarter man than me," Fado answered, smiling.

"No further questions," Robin sighed, facing the rest of the court again.

"Then that will be all, detective." Ursula folded her arms and shut her eyes.

"Yes, thank you, detective," said the judge, "You're dismissed. In the meantime, do you have another witness to call, prosecution?"

Ursula cocked an eyebrow at the dark-coated detective who walked sulkily by her, glaring up at her for only the briefest moment. She then picked up a paper from her desk and said, "Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution would now like to call on the defendant, in the interest of some legal standards of equality, but also so that the court can hear the flimsiness of his explanation and further concur with the state's conclusions."

Robin could now get his first good look at his client since he had visited the office a few days ago. He looked a few years older than Robin, but not many. His hair was long and wiry, reaching down to his shoulders, and cobalt blue in hue. His face and eyes sagged into a long and seemingly permanent frown, giving off the impression that he had always just been crying. Or, perhaps, at best, he looked sternly apathetic. He was wearing a white suit, which Robin found strange, until he realized that it was less of a suit and more of a uniform: not unlike his hair and face, the suit was dirtied and rumpled, meaning he probably hadn't had much time to change out of it since being arrested. It must have been the suit he wore for official appearances—a part of his identity, in which case, it was unfortunate but appropriate that it was so beaten up.

He stood at the stand and looked over at the defense bench with the same vaguely sad look in his eyes, and then faced Ursula.

"Your name and occupation for the record," she commanded.

"My name is Pelleas Apoleus," he said in a weak monotone, "I'm Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia."

"Indeed. Now, tell the court what you believe happened on the day of Ms. Viscount's murder."

"R-Right. Well, I was acting in an official capacity that day. I was supposed to be receiving several documents from Ms. Viscount that had been sent by the Plegian government. I called a few days before we were to meet and asked if there was somewhere she would like to meet in particular, and she named the café we later visited. I think she comes there quite often. At any rate, we met there a little after three—a quarter past, if memory serves. We ate a light lunch and discussed affairs between our two countries until, finally, the blackout happened. I didn't know quite what to do, so I just remained still while the lights were out. I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear both of the servers still moving around for a few minutes after. Eventually, after a bit of chatter, the lights came back on, and I turned around to find Leila dead. Imagine my shock and horror! Of course, I alerted everyone in the café straight away, and even suggested that we ought to call the police. I don't know how that poison got on my cuff, or in my pocket, I swear! Why should I have done it?"

The court was silent, projecting a number of evaluative stares down at the defendant. Few of them seemed to make a positive judgment. Even Robin found himself frowning. "This isn't good," he said, "That didn't make for a very convincing counterargument. At this rate, the prosecution won't even need to call any of their witnesses."

"Don't despair just yet," said Fado, smiling at his protégé, "This is a good opportunity for you. You can help our client fix up his statements. Give him a stronger platform to stand on, and you may find more folks coming over to our side."

"Of course, you're right." These words sounded more like Robin trying to convince himself. "Fix his statements… I can do this."

Fado turned back to face the defendant, still smiling. "I know you can, son."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I assume you'll have a few questions for the defendant as well?" the judge said.

"Yes, Your Honor." Robin put on his best professional face without looking too stern—he was afraid even an indelicate glare might break this poor, nervous-looking man. "Mr. Apoleus, you said you were receiving documents from Ms. Viscount… can you tell the court anything more about the contents of those documents?"

"Oh, I don't know… most of those would be considered confidential. I don't think I'm at liberty to say anything too specific."

"Is there any reason someone else might've wanted to get their hands on those documents?"

Pelleas's brow shifted as he thought. "I'd be quite surprised. Most of them were… ahem, well, speaking broadly, there were some reports and records of illicit trading along the border. Nothing of interest to anyone besides government officials, really."

"If you were going to suggest the involvement of a third party, Mr. LeBlanc, you'd have to first provide proof that there was even anyone there with the opportunity," said Ursula, "otherwise, you have nothing."

"To that end," Robin said, trying to maintain his composure, "Mr. Apoleus, you say you heard the servers moving around, right?"

"Yes, I could hear their footsteps."

"But you couldn't see them in the dark, right? How do you know it was them?"

"Hm… I suppose I don't. I just assumed, since they were the only ones up and moving before the blackout."

"For the record, we have the sworn testimony of both servers saying the witnessed the other moving before the blackout, and no one else," said Ursula, "This line of inquiry won't stick, Mr. LeBlanc."

Robin paused and frowned.

Fado faced him again. "What's the matter, son? This'd be a good time to ask some more questions."

"Yeah, I have one in mind, it's just… I'm afraid it might damage our case if I ask, but I also think it might help lead us to more information. Should I ask it?"

"Hah. That's one of the toughest judgment calls you can make as a lawyer, son. I'll let you decide, because it won't be the last time."

"What? But that's… er, well… any advice?"

"I never knew any subject so dangerous it couldn't at least be talked about."

"All right. That's what I was thinking." Robin cleared his throat and faced the stand again. "Mr. Apoleus, Ms. Verra has given this court the idea that you and the victim had some kind of argument before the murder. Is there any truth to that allegation?"

Pelleas's frown sunk even deeper, as if he were wondering if his attorney had lost it.

"Please remember that you are under oath, Mr. Apoleus," Ursula said, her eyes sharp.

"I'm afraid…" He bowed his head. "…that it is not entirely _un_ true."

Robin grit his teeth. "Oh, no…" Ursula only gave a tiny smile.

"Ms. Viscount is a… very opinionated woman," Pelleas said, cocking his head to the side, "She apparently took some umbrage with the way I perform my duties, and there was the matter of my father… She told me I was too passive, and so I tried to summon up a little courage… I don't think it was really much of an argument, I just asked her to quit berating me."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the court," Ursula Verra said, taking a bow, "The defendant, humiliated during his meeting with the victim, took advantage of his opportunity to poison the victim's drink during the blackout. The only defense he can muster is that he has no idea where the poison came from… what an atrocious lie!"

"P-Please! I'm telling the truth! Why won't you listen?" the defendant protested.

"This isn't going well," Fado said matter-of-factly.

"H-Hang on!" Robin shouted, "Ms. Verra, what you just said conflicts with your earlier explanation: why _would_ the defendant be carrying around poison if he only decided to murder the victim because of an argument they had in the middle of their lunch?"

Ursula shook her head and wagged her finger at the young attorney. "Mr. LeBlanc. I understand that this is your first trial, so I'll try not to be too harsh with you, but know this: I have been entrusted with researching this case thoroughly. I know all there is to know about it. You cannot conceive of a single angle which I have not considered. Mr. Apoleus, tell the court: do you have some kind of history with the victim?"

"Y-Yes," he sighed, "Ms. Viscount was my most frequent point of contact with the Plegian government. We met at least once every three months, and we were known to get into similar… er, conversations."

Ursula stretched out her arm, as if presenting the testimony to the defense. "So, you see, the defendant has abundant motive to already despise the victim. Perhaps he was using the day of the murder to decide if he should really go through with it. Of course, we all know what he decided now."

Pelleas let out a pant and buckled a bit at the stand.

Fado called out: "Robin, some professional advice: this is looking grim. Find somewhere else to go with this, quickly."

"But… what…?"

"Anything. Just do it now."

"Er, um… Mr. Apoleus… could we see the cuff you wore on the day of the murder—the one that was alleged to show traces of cyanide?"

"Of course." The defendant rolled up his right arm's suit sleeve and showed the court the white shirt sleeve underneath. At the edge of the cuff, in a straight line from the defendant's middle finger, there was a blob of light blue, ending in, Robin noticed, an unnaturally sharp line at the opposite side. The blot was no wider than an inch.

"Is cyanide known to be blue?" Robin asked, pinching his chin while staring at the evidence.

"No, that would be the chemical reactant used to identify the traces of cyanide," Ursula replied, "this coloration is how the police department can tell, without question, that there are traces of cyanide on the cuff. There is no reason to doubt that fact."

"Wait a second…" Robin muttered, staring even more intensely at the mark, "Mr. Apoleus, what hand do you use most often?"

"Hm? I'm right-handed," the defendant answered.

Ursula folded her arms. "Does this mean something to you, defense?"

"As a matter of fact, it does," Robin replied, "It means the prosecution's theory makes no sense at all!"

"What?!" Ursula bared her teeth like fangs. "How dare you make such a ridiculous claim?" She calmed herself down a bit, closing her mouth and her eyes. "What about the presence of cyanide and the defendant's handedness changes the state's theory?"

"Look at the placement of the cyanide trace: it's on top of the defendant's cuff, in line with his middle finger. If the defendant had lifted the poison from his pocket—presumably with his right hand—and dropped it into the victim's drink, when would it have gotten back _over_ his hand and onto his cuff?"

"Rrgh." Ursula simply growled lowly. The rest of the court began to exchange whispers until the judge's gavel silenced them.

"What does this mean for the court, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge asked.

"It means that it was impossible for the defendant to have dropped the poison into the victim's drink, like the prosecution has suggested."

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "It's still entirely possible that the defendant simply used his other hand."

"But why would he do that? Not only would the defendant be performing a precise action with his non-dominant hand, but since he would need to swing his arm all the way over to his pocket and then stretch it out right in front of the victim, it would be an unnecessarily conspicuous action to boot!"

"You're forgetting about the blackout, Mr. LeBlanc. Visibility really wasn't much of a factor. Perhaps the defendant was simply so shocked and excited by the opportunity that he bumbled a bit and used his non-dominant hand because he wanted to be quick about things."

"But… but…"

"Moreover, the placement of the cyanide on the defendant's cuff is irrelevant. A trace could have ended up there accidentally after the fact. It doesn't really matter, considering that the defendant still had the poison on him when the police arrived and no one else had an opportunity to poison the victim."

"There was… someone else had an opportunity!"

Ursula smirked. "Really? And who was that?"

"W-Well… why not one of the servers?"

Ursula smiled. Robin felt his face sink. "I'll be more than happy to give you the testimony of both servers, Mr. LeBlanc. They will provide alibis for one another, and finally represent the full truth of the matter to this court. They will prove, in short, that no one other than the defendant was capable of committing this murder."

Robin doubled back. "Urk! Dammit…"

Fado was watching the prosecutor carefully. "She has changed… a bit, anyway. I guess this is the true power of the Blue Crow."

"The… 'Blue Crow?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow at his mentor.

"Sure. She feeds on carrion. And she's as sharp as a tack, too. Just like a crow. That's the nickname they've given her in the prosecutor's office."

Robin groaned, "Why couldn't I have gotten a simple traffic case?"

"Relax. I'm still here," said Fado, "She's smart, but she's arrogant, too. I'm sure she thinks she's laid many clever traps for you throughout this trial, but if you keep a level head, you can outthink her."

"But what about she said about researching the case? She seems to know everything I'm going to bring up before I can even say it…"

"That's just more arrogance, like I said. You think your client is innocent, right?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Well, Ms. Verra doesn't. That means, at best, she only _thinks_ she knows every possible explanation."

"Huh?"

"If she really knew _everything_ … she'd probably believe he was innocent, too, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Just keep at it, Robin. You'll get her. Try to stay calm."

"Right…"

"Well, seeing as the defense's argument has been quite soundly refuted, I will defer to Ms. Verra's statement," said the judge, "If the prosecution would like to call its next witness, we can continue with the trial."

"Certainly, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, leaning back with an easier expression on her face, "The prosecution will call Ms. Amelia Arealla, a waitress at the café."

Robin watched the prosecutor this time, ignoring the witness as she left the gallery and walked up to the witness stand. The Blue Crow stood tall and composed, looking over her records. She really did seem to know all there was to know about this case, as much as it irked him. How could he conceive of an explanation that even a state prosecutor given plenty of time and resources couldn't have imagined?

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Former—end]


	14. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Mid

[April 17th, 11:49 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Robin had to break his concentration on Ursula and her plans so that he could listen to the witness, who had suddenly appeared at the stand. She was a short and slight blonde girl—not really the type Robin would have pegged for a waitress. She wore a red shirt with a buttoned collar that featured the café's name on the back, a thin pair of tan pants, and she had a towel with the café's logo hanging out of her right pocket.

She was tottering a bit at the stand. She didn't look confused or intoxicated, just like she had some kind of difficulty putting her feet properly in place. Another reason it was strange to think she was a waitress. When she was finally settled, Ursula asked her for her name and occupation.

She gave it: "I'm Amelia Arealla, one of two servers at the bea-YU-tiful Posto Ladro Café! Our motto is: 'Our fantastic food and warm hospitality will steal the hours away!'" With this, she gave a little flourish and stretched out her hand. Afterward, she looked around, as if searching for approval. Someone in the gallery laughed and clapped his hands, earning him an angry glare from the judge.

"Miss Arealla," Ursula Verra said sternly, "please try to remember that you are in a court of law, providing testimony for a murder case."

Her face dropped into a miserable frown. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I do it wrong again? I was told to get the word out, but… oh, I'm just useless!" The witness started to pout and rub her shoulder.

"It's quite all right, Ms. Arealla," said the judge, "Many people aren't sure quite how to act when placed in a court as a witness for the first time. Please, just relax and answer the questions you're asked, and there won't be any problems."

"Uh, all right," she said in a voice just above a whisper.

 _If you're asking me, it looks like this girl's going to provide plenty of her own problems_ , Robin thought. Fado was silent, looking at the witness with nothing more than an amused smile.

"Ms. Arealla," Ursula called her to attention, "Please tell the court what you were doing on the day of the crime, as well as what you saw the defendant and victim doing at that time."

"Okay," she said with a nod, "Let's see… So, I was the one assigned to Mr. Apoleus and Ms. Viscount's table. We divide the tables up into halves of the restaurants, and that's how we choose which of the of us—my coworker Forde and I, that is—has to serve which table. Those two were on my side, so I served them their food and drinks. I was out on the floor most of the day because we were pretty busy—the whole place was packed almost all day, and it had started to get really warm inside. Between the kitchen cooking up a storm and all the people, I was roasting. But, anyway, I never took my eyes off the front room where all the tables are for more than a few minutes all day. I didn't see either Mr. Apoleus or Ms. Viscount get up or move anywhere during their meal until after Ms. Viscount was dead. For the record, the bathrooms are in the back of the café, past the kitchen. It's a confusing spot, all the way back there, and customers have to ask where it is all the time. Basically, I definitely would've seen if one of them had gone that way."

"So, there you go," Ursula said, raising her hand like she was letting the information drop from it, "The defendant is the only one who had the opportunity to poison the victim's drink, no one else. Given that he had the offending substance in his pocket, it should be clear that there is no room for doubt in this matter."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination," offered the judge.

Robin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ms. Arealla, I've heard so far that other patrons at the café claimed to still hear the waitstaff moving after the blackout. Can you tell me what you were doing?"

"Well, I can't speak for Forde," she said, pushing her index finger into her cheek, "but for me, I was running around, feeling a little flustered. I wanted to serve the guests, because we were so busy, but, of course, we had to fix the power problem first, and I didn't know how to do that, and I couldn't see where I was, so I ended up tripping and—" she seemed to be running out of breath reliving her trauma.

"Er, that's enough, thanks," Robin told her, "but, just to be clear, you heard your fellow server Forde moving during the blackout, too?"

"Yes. He was a lot more composed than me, by the sound of it. Not that that's anything new…"

"And did you see him in that time?"

"No… It was pitch black inside and dark and stormy outside, so it was really hard to see much of anything when the power went out. That was why I ended up tripping."

"I'll say it again, Mr. LeBlanc," Ursula told him, "the facts of this case are absolutely as the state has presented them. There's no use trying to undermine the story as it has been told thus far."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said in reply.

"What was that?" she growled at him, leaning over her desk.

"Er, nothing! Nothing at all!" Robin had to catch his breath. She was cold in general, but she could get much scarier at the drop of a hat. "U-Um… Ms. Arealla, can we talk about the dimensions of the building a little?"

"Hm? Uh, I didn't build it, so if you're looking for technical specifications…"

"No, not like that. I was thinking about what you said about the bathroom."

"Oh, sure. Yeah, it's in the back of the café, past the kitchen and the employee lounge."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "Employee lounge?"

"Yeah. Didn't I mention that? It's just a little room where Forde and I can get into our uniforms or take a quick water-and-snack break if we're having a rough shift."

"I see. And you didn't go into the lounge at all during that time?"

"Nope. I don't think I went in there at all that day, actually."

"Is the door to the lounge locked when you're not there?"

"No. There's a big 'employees only' sign on it, so most people don't give it a second thought. Besides, we don't really keep anything valuable in there. I guess if someone was really determined to steal our clothes or something…"

"For the record," said Ursula, holding a paper in front of her face, "the police found nothing in the employee lounge but a discarded uniform, believed to have belonged to Mr. Forde Willow. He was probably changing before he left for the day, following the murder."

"What do you think, Mr. Verlaine?" Robin asked, "It's another room we haven't heard about yet. It opens up a whole new dimension to the case, don't you think?"

Fado smiled. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, son, but don't get ahead of yourself. True, this opens up many _possibilities_ , but courts and juries don't much like hearing about possibilities. What they like to hear are _facts_ and _evidence_. You should hold off on making any big statements until you've found the evidence that lets one of those possibilities crystalize into a fact."

"I guess that makes sense." _Still thought you would have encouraged me a little more, though…_

"It seems the existence of this employee lounge is not particularly relevant to the matter at hand," said the judge, "Will there be anything else, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Um…" The novice attorney's eyes searched the room. "You said it was… hot, Ms. Arealla?"

Ursula folded her arms and scoffed.

"Yeah," Amelia answered, frowning as she recalled it, "Like I said, it was a pretty busy day, so the kitchen was firing non-stop, and the whole building was crazy hot. I was sweating the whole time. I had to towel myself off with a rag before I went to each table so I wouldn't look gross. Ugh, what a day…"

"Any thoughts on that, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, looking quite ready to be done.

"Um…" Robin scratched his head thoroughly, but he couldn't come up with anything in the few seconds that afforded him.

"Clearly not," said Ursula, "Mr. LeBlanc has finally arrived at the same realization everyone in this court had one testimony ago: there is no use probing for more information. The result of this trial has already been decided by careful planning. Now, if he knows what's good for him, he will spare the rest of us some time and allow the trial to end here, all the proof directed abundantly in the prosecution's favor."

"Shoot!" Robin said to himself, hitting the desk below him, "She's got a real stranglehold on things in this trial. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she really does have every possibility covered…"

"Surely you're not giving up like that?" Fado said, turning to face his protégé.

"I don't want to, but what else can I say? I can't find even the slightest gap in her narrative—she's got everything sealed tightly shut."

Fado shut his eyes and smiled a big grin. "Robin, my boy, are you familiar with the concept of entropy?"

"…Entropy, sir?"

"Sure. In physics, it's a quantity used to describe the number of ways in which a system might not work. You follow? Ever heard of 'Murphy's Law?'"

"Wait… yeah, I do know that one: 'Anything that can go wrong will go wrong,' right?"

"Exactly. That's what 'entropy' usually represents, especially among people. Anytime you introduce people to the equation, there's a high chance that something unexpected will happen. See where I'm going yet?"

"You… want me to turn the trial over to the jury? Hope we win by pure luck?"

Fado scowled. "No."

"Then no."

"Robin, do you think there's a way we could involve another person in these proceedings? Maybe try to disrupt the prosecution's story a bit? Or, at least, complicate it?"

Robin's eyebrows jumped. "Oh! Now I get it! The waiter! Maybe we can get something out of him."

"Thatta boy," Fado said more happily, turning back to the court.

"Will there be anything further, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge asked, looking down from his bench.

"Yes, Your Honor!" Robin answered, "The defense would like the opportunity to question another of the prosecution's witnesses: namely, Forde Willow, the other server on-staff at the time of the murder!"

"I see," said the judge, leaning back, "Very well. Does the prosecution have any objections, Ms. Verra?"

Ursula sighed. "Personally, I firmly object to the desperate act of stalling for time, but on the level of legal concern, no, the prosecution makes no formal objections to this request."

"Then I see no reason not to grant it," the judge concluded, "Bailiff, would you please fetch the witness?"

The bailiff did as he was told, letting a big gust of air in through the court as he walked out the imposing back doors. Robin, similarly, let out a long breath before looking around the room. He found Ursula immediately sticking her nose back into her notes and files. Meanwhile, Fado was cracking his knuckles and straightening out his suit, appearing to take no interest in the desperation they were currently facing in their case. Looking back behind the space for presiding counsel, beyond the velvet ropes, the gallery were sitting and chatting in whispers. Among them, Pelleas Apoleus, with two policemen on either side of him, was still bearing the same just-crying look as his face descended lower and lower toward his palm. When he saw Robin looking at him, he just moved his head to the side to avoid eye contact. Even as Robin turned around to face the judge again, the older gentleman seemed to have a thoroughly dull look in his eyes. He was stroking at his beard, trying to shield his eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights above him. Finally, footsteps came from the back of the court as the witness was brought forward.

The man took the stand and gave the court a little smile. He was a youthful-looking man with bright eyes, a somewhat narrow jaw, and wheat-blond hair tied into a ponytail at the back. He ran his right hand through that hair before giving everyone in the court a bigger grin, waiting expectantly.

"Your name and occupation for the record," Ursula demanded.

"I'm Forde Willow," he replied, "a fellow server at the Posto Ladro Café. I'll happily answer any questions you have about the day of the crime—I made sure to commit everything I could to memory."

"Mr. Willow," the judge cleared his throat, "If you would, please tell the court everything you remember about the events leading up to the murder, as well as the moments after, before the defendant's arrest."

"Why, sure thing, Your Honor!" He gave the court a thumbs-up. They didn't seem impressed. He blinked at them. "C'mon, sad sacks. Liven up a little. It looks like a damn funeral here."

"Please watch your language," said the judge.

"Take this seriously, witness, or you'll seriously be in trouble," Ursula added.

Robin and Fado said nothing.

"Man, you guys are no fun," the witness said, scowling away from the entire court.

"Witness, your testimony?" the judge insisted.

"Fine," he sighed, "Lemme see. It was a pretty normal day, other than the fact that we were booked solid the whole day through. One of the busiest times I've ever seen, in fact. I say 'one of,' because, there was this day about a year and a half ago when the exalt's little sister came to town and, hoo, boy! You shoulda seen how full up we got when—"

"Witness!" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk. "Please, restrict your testimony to matters relevant to the case at hand!"

"Right, right," he said, shrugging, "so, anyhow, I was busting my hump the whole day, just going back and forth from the kitchen, and it was super hot inside, because there were orders coming out all the time. I wasn't waiting the tables on the side of the room where the victim or defendant were eating, so I didn't really see what was going on with 'em, or what they were up to. Honestly, if the police hadn't shown me pictures, I might not have even remembered them at all. See, like I said, it was burning up in there, so right before the blackout, I went into the lounge to take a breather. I got kinda dizzy, so I might've blacked out myself, even! Haha! Then I woke up with the café's chef leaning over me, and he filled me in. After that, Amelia and I held down the exits to make sure no one left until the police got there to manage the situation."

"So, you can see," said Ursula, "despite the fact that the witness is something of a ditz, he reports the same facts as the other server with no discrepancy."

"Robin?" Fado looked down at his pupil.

"Oh, no worries," the young attorney replied, "that one was easy to spot."

"Good lad."

"It's all thanks to 'entropy.'"

"Righto."

"It seems like you have something to add, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge.

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin said, facing down the prosecutor across from him, "I object to the prosecution's last statement!"

"Excuse you?" Ursula replied, lowering her brow at him.

"Ms. Verra, you just said that the witness reported the same facts as Ms. Arealla 'with no discrepancy.'"

"And?"

"And that's not true. There is a clear and glaring contradiction between their two testimonies: Mr. Willow claims that he entered the employee lounge shortly before the blackout and may have briefly fainted. Ms. Arealla, on the other hand, claimed that she heard Mr. Willow's footsteps not only moments before the blackout, but _during_ it."

"Then Ms. Arealla must have misspoken. That's clearly impossible."

"Oh? So, what did she mean, then? Or are you claiming she heard someone else's footsteps? The latter would further contradict the prosecution's claims!"

Ursula's glare stabbed into Robin. It was like being hit with a blast of cold air, seeing the expression on her face at that moment. Had he actually managed to dig into her a bit? Either way, whatever feeling of victory he could derive from that moderate success disappeared when she spoke again. She shook her head. "I understand this must be very exciting for you, Mr. LeBlanc, but please, don't go proclaiming your victory just yet." She tapped her finger on her arm as she thought aloud: "It occurs to me that we have been presented with a problem. You posit your argument on an apparent contradiction between the two testimonies of these servers, Mr. LeBlanc. The next logical question to ask is 'Why does this conflict exist?'"

"Yes, and—"

"Quiet! I'm not finished speaking yet, boy. Now, your deduction is most likely that this somehow represents evidence of another party being involved in the affair?" Robin winced. "Don't look so surprised," she went on, "I know your mentor's tactics quite well. Instead of jumping to negative conclusions by using an absence of positive proof, allow me to present the court with a more logical supposition: one of our fine witnesses is not being entirely honest."

Mutters rang out through the court, and Fado pinched his chin. "What is she doing?" the senior attorney wondered, "She knows full well that saying that undermines her case, too."

"Could… could she have known their testimonies were going to conflict?" Robin stammered.

"If so, she's given this even more thought than I could've anticipated," Fado replied. His features were sharp and dark.

"Mr. Willow," Ursula continued, "you are causing this court considerable trouble. Tell me something, and do be honest: did you go into the employee lounge before the blackout?"

"Y-Yes. Er, well… I mean… I… I think… I did?" The waiter was rubbing his neck fitfully, sweat already gathering on his forehead.

"Oh, but you said it with such confidence before," Ursula said with a mocking voice, leaning over her desk, "Why the sudden uncertainty?"

"Er, that's 'cause… well, y'see, this is all just a funny misunderstanding…"

"Witness… the truth, if you please, or you'll learn what the Blue Crow does with creatures left dead in the water…"

"Eek! I… I was out of it around then, okay? I… I can't really remember what happened. I was tired, and hot, and… and I didn't know what was going on or what I was doing! I went toward the employee lounge and… I remember waking up there, but…"

"The witness experienced heatstroke," Ursula finished for him, "irrationality or lapses in memory due to temporarily limited brain functioning are not unheard of in such cases. It's entirely possible that Mr. Willow merely stumbled around in confusion after the blackout, and only then made his way into the lounge, wherein he finally fainted." The prosecutor took a little bow. "What do you think of my reasoning, Your Honor?"

"I must say, your work is impeccable as always, Ms. Verra," the judge said, stroking his beard, "You are quite the skilled logician."

"Much gratitude, Your Honor," she said, "And, if there were to be any question of deduction, I would like to present this report to the court: a medical examiner who attended to the witness that same day gave the same diagnosis that I arrived at in my analysis."

Robin took a copy of the report and looked it over. She was right: the doctor had diagnosed Forde Willow with heatstroke and advised him to take the following day off for bedrest and a steady supply of fluids. Symptoms noted included overheating sensation, shortness of breath, difficulty with brain functioning, and agitated behavior. _Agitated behavior?_ He looked through more of the report and found an explanation: an abrasion had been discovered on Forde's neck that the doctor had suggested came from Forde accidentally choking himself with his shirt collar while desperately attempting to remove it. The police had made a note of the shirt, left inside-out on the floor of the room.

"I'll be damned," Fado said, his voice regaining some of its humor, "She got us good. What do you make of it, lad?"

"It explains a lot… but I don't buy it," Robin said.

"Ho ho, so soon? I must be rubbing off on you."

"Well, I don't have a lot of direct evidence for this, but something here strikes me as odd: Ursula said Forde might have stumbled around before passing out, not quite knowing what he was doing, but Amelia made note of how coordinated the footsteps she heard were. If Ursula wants to discredit Forde's testimony, then Amelia's must be true, which still leaves us with a question."

"You're sinking your teeth deep into the details now, my boy. Good work. How do you think we proceed?"

"Ursula is trying to confuse us by pulling something we wouldn't expect: she deliberately disadvantaged herself to cover up a point we made, but now we have the opportunity to retaliate."

"Listen to you." Fado gave him a slanted grin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had an idea what you're talking about."

 _Let's hope the jury is similarly duped_.

"Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "do you have any response to the prosecution's remarks? Or are you in agreement with their conclusions?"

"New testimony means I have the right to a re-cross, Your Honor," Robin told him, "I'd like to ask the witness some more questions."

"Of course, by all means."

"Mr. Willow, I hope you know you've put yourself in a very bad spot by saying these things." Robin tried hard to make his eyes menacing.

"H-Huh? What do you mean?" The witness was wiping sweat from his forehead.

"If we can't rely on your testimony about going to the employee lounge, then we can't rely on your alibi about being in there, either, can we?"

"W-What?! Please, back up that train of thought!"

"Ursula said you experienced heatstroke, but that came from the description of your symptoms to a doctor after the fact, right? If that's true, then what's to say you didn't just make it up?"

"Gah…! I… I didn't! Really, I promise! I swear, I got overheated and passed out in the lounge!"

Robin shook his head. "According to the prosecution, your testimony can't be trusted, even if you yourself believe it. We can only rely on the testimony of Ms. Arealla, who heard her coworker's footsteps moving after the blackout, the only time the crime could have been committed, thanks to the surveillance cameras."

"What? No, no, no. Not good. Hey, Ms. Prosecutor Lady, please, help me!"

"I cannot dismiss the possibility brought up by the defense," Ursula said. Forde's head sank and he muttered to himself. "However, if the defense wishes to pursue this line of reasoning, they must be aware that they are making a very serious accusation. Let's not mince words, Mr. LeBlanc: are you formally indicting Forde Willow with the murder?"

_If Amelia's story is true, and it really isn't Pelleas, then the only other option is Forde. No one else had any opportunity to poison Leila during that blackout. Still, I'd better be cautious. I've been thinking I'd found ways around Ursula's reasoning several times already, and every time she's managed to spring some kind of trap on me. She might have been counting on me taking this approach, and, in that case, she might just be waiting to put the final nail in all this. At the same time, if I don't do something decisive here, I may lose my chance of swinging the momentum of this trial back in my favor. What can I do? It's one trap or another… unless… unless there's something else that can get me out of this sink. That's right, there's one element of the scene that I've heard about but hasn't been investigated yet. Maybe that's my ticket out of this._

The judge quieted the murmur in the court with his gavel. "Mr. LeBlanc, I would also have your answer. Do you plan to formally indict the witness?"

"I'd like to ask the witness one more question before making my decision, Your Honor."

"Go on."

"Mr. Willow, this is going to end badly for you if it keeps on in this way. I'm giving you a chance right now, so think hard: is there someone who can account for your whereabouts during the blackout?"

The waiter pinched his chin and cocked his head to the side. "Someone else… someone who can… Oh! Oh! There totally is! Yes, there is someone!" His face lit up with joy as he realized it.

"And who would that be?" Robin asked.

"Why, the chef, of course," he answered, "Dozla Spokony!"

Ursula grimaced. "Ugh, not _that_ idiot…!"

"Your Honor, in the interest of fairness to the witness, I will not indict him until I hear testimony regarding his whereabouts from Mr. Dozla Spokony."

"Very well." The judge pounded the desk with his gavel again, "Does the prosecution require time to prepare?"

"Regrettably, Your Honor," Ursula said through a strained scowl, "The witness was not kept in custody, due to his testimony having little to do with the crime. It will take some time to summon him."

"Then this court will take a thirty-minute recess. I trust this will provide adequate time to bring the witness here and prepare him for questioning?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Thank you."

The judge rapped his gavel once more. "Court is now in recess."

[April 17th, 12:20 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

Robin pushed his fingers into his temple as he sat on the couch, thinking things through. It was only a moment before he heard his mentor's heavy footsteps following him and looked up.

"Well now," Fado said with a bigger grin than usual, "You seem to be doing just fine for your first trial, my boy, just fine. What do you think? Is it like you imagined."

"I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my throat every time I open my mouth to speak."

Fado laughed at the ceiling, big shoulders shaking. "You're more like me than you know, son. Don't worry, those jitters will die down a little with time. So far, I'm impressed with how you've been holding your own. Prosecutor Verra certainly isn't pulling any punches with you."

"If you say so. It feels like I'm playing a big game of cat and mouse with her. No matter what I say, she's always got something ready for it. I'm worried that I don't have any way to break down her arguments without bolstering more of them."

"A wise man once said, 'argument is meant to reveal the truth, not to create it.'"

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that being foiled by your opposing counsel is all part of the trial experience, boy. If the conclusion to the question of the day were so obvious that you could find it in one go, there'd be no need for a trial. Instead, we have two sides with competing explanations struggling against each other to show whose conclusion is more rational. So, focus on that more than the prosecutor herself: her arguments are just incorrect retellings that you have to explain away."

"It's a lot simpler in theory."

"That it is, lad."

"What do you think the chef will have to say? Can he really validate Forde's alibi?"

"Couldn't say as I know. I liked the look on Ursula's face when she realized she would have to call on him though, heh heh! Whether he verifies the alibi or not, you'll have some new tools to work with, so I think you did well."

"Thanks, sir. And thanks for being here with me. I know for sure I'd be sunk without you around."

"Ha! You think I'd let my junior employee flounder by himself on his first trial? No, you'll find your own path soon, but for now, you still need some guidance. I'll be here to provide that until then."

"I wonder when that'll be…"

"Sooner than you'd think, I imagine."

"Are you getting at something, sir?"

"Just that you're a very competent employee so far, son."

Robin frowned. "I'm not quite as good at reading people as you are, sir, but I can tell a blatant lie when I hear one. Is something wrong?"

Fado tilted his head. "Wrong? No, nothing's wrong. I have some bigger plans on the way."

"Interesting. Care to fill me in?"

"These plans don't concern you just yet, son. When you get a little more experience under your belt, then we'll need to have a long conversation, but for right now, you just need to concentrate on being the best lawyer you can be, all right?"

"If you say so, sir."

"Here's a simple question for you, though: if I were to go away on a kind of retreat for a few weeks, do you think you'd be able to handle the office while I'm away?"

"Not really… I'm only just learning the ropes, and with all the clients you get, I don't know how I could ever…"

The senior attorney looked away. "Heh. Going to have to delay my vacation a bit longer, then. Oh well. I suppose I predicted as much."

"I'm sorry if it's a problem, sir. I want to do whatever you ask, but I'd be worried about ruining your reputation with my inexperience."

"Not to worry, son. You make a fair point. Like I said, we'll get you through a few more trials, let you find your footing, and then I'll take my little time off."

"Of course, sir," Robin said, eyeing his mentor suspiciously.

"Pardon me." They heard a voice from behind both of them, and Fado shuffled out of the way to find a spot on the sofa beside his employee. "The bailiff ushered me out here. I wondered if I could speak to you."

"Absolutely," Robin said, "Please, Mr. Apoleus, as your attorney, I'd be happy to discuss anything with you."

"Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc," the defendant said, taking a seat in an armchair across from him, "With that said, may I speak candidly for a bit?"

"By all means."

"Initially, I was very concerned about your qualifications. In fact, I still am."

_Ouch. For such a timid-looking guy, he sure doesn't mind straight talk._

"However, I do realize what a difficult position I've placed you in, and I apologize. I know it can't be easy to defend someone with practically no alibi."

"That's for me to worry about, not you, Mr. Apoleus. Please, don't apologize. We're going to figure this out, one way or another."

"So, knowing Ylissean law to be what it is, do you have another suspect in mind? Do you really intend to accuse that waiter?"

"Knowing the law to be what it is… what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"He's talking about the Culpability Substitute Clause, Robin," Fado chimed in, giving Robin a glare to suggest that he should have already known this.

"That's right," Robin recalled, "In order to fully acquit a defendant in a criminal trial, defense attorneys must prove the defendant's innocence by virtue of building a case against another party, or, in some cases, by attributing it to an accident or suicide. Well, you should know that I don't have any evidence that directly incriminates Mr. Willow, Mr. Apoleus."

"I see." He winced noticeably. "That is regrettable."

"However," Robin continued, his voice apologetic, "I'm growing increasingly more convinced that something isn't quite the way it seems, I'm just trying to figure out what it is, exactly."

"Feelings and senses seldom capture the public's attention, however," Fado reminded him with an instructive undertone to his voice, "For now, you need to concentrate on showing the court how it was impossible for Mr. Apoleus to have committed the crime. If you can do that, finding a scapegoat is secondary. It can be anything incidental, we just have to keep the heat off the defendant."

Robin cocked an eyebrow. "Er, with all due respect, sir, that's not really good enough for me, either. I want to make sure the person getting put away is the person who really committed the crime."

This provoked a broader-than-usual grin from Fado. "I knew there was something I liked about you, kid."

"…Thanks?"

"Welcome."

"Well… er, Mr. Apoleus," said Robin, "If it's all right with you, I'd like to take a moment to ask you about some of the case, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," the ambassador replied, "Anything I can do to help."

"Right, so, you and the victim, Ms. Viscount, you agreed to meet at this place beforehand, right?"

"Yes, about a week in advance. It was official business, so I notified all the employees in my office that I'd be out around that time."

"As an ambassador, do you meet a lot of people out of the office?"

"Not all too often. Most of my job is sifting through mail, whether of the handwritten or electronic variety. I help resolve disputes on small criminal issues and decide whether or not to grant certain amnesties. As per my meeting with Ms. Viscount, I also engage in the exchange of information between Ylisse and Plegia, especially sensitive documents and the like."

"Sensitive documents, eh? There would happen to have been any of those present on the day of the crime, would there?"

Pelleas swallowed. "Not at all. They were all quite boring. Updates to agricultural regulations, mostly."

"Mr. Apoleus," Robin said, straining his brow, "I don't think it's a very good idea to lie to your own attorney. Especially when you don't seem to be very good at it."

"W-What? I don't know what you mean. I told you the absolute truth!"

"In the trial, you said the case you took with you was full of reports on illicit trading. Now it's agriculture? Which is it, Mr. Apoleus?"

"I-It's both."

"From your tone of voice, I don't believe you."

"W-Well, that's rather inconvenient. In fact, I'm a bit upset that you'd doubt me, your own client. Why would I not be fully transparent?"

"Happens more often than you'd think," said Fado, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him.

"As attorney and client, our level of trust is a two-way street, Mr. Apoleus. I'm willing to believe in your innocence, but you have to be entirely honest with me if you want any chance of succeeding in this trial."

"But… what makes you so sure I'm not being honest?"

"You're acting pretty anxious for someone just telling the truth. Moreover, there's something you said in the trial that's been bothering me for quite a while, a remark that went totally unnoticed."

"Hm?"

"When you were talking about how you and the victim would sometimes get into arguments, you said something about your father, but you never elaborated on it. What was that about?"

Pelleas hesitated, and his eyes seemed to sink beneath his brow, getting darker. "Mr. LeBlanc… you have to understand that what I'm about to say isn't public knowledge… If word gets out, it could spark an international incident. That's why I'd like to keep this under wraps."

"Mr. Apoleus… Right, I understand. Please, tell me what this is about."

"As you wish, although this may take a few minutes… My father—that is, my stepfather, Ashnard Daein, was… shall we say, a political activist in Ylisse. He wasn't a fan of the direction the country was going, and he held frequent demonstrations with other like-minded individuals who were opposed to Ylisse creating more cordial relations with Plegia. Their group kept growing more and more radical until, eventually, their demonstrations became violent, and Ashnard, er, my father was branded a criminal. Feeling rejected by the country he claimed to fight for, he did the only thing he thought was right under the circumstances… allegedly, anyway."

"Allegedly? What in the world did he do?"

"He assassinated the king of Plegia. So an investigation determined, anyway."

" _What?!_ " Robin leapt off the sofa.

"My stepfather assassinated King Abdiel Weissman of Plegia. That's what the investigators said, anyway."

"No… the king?" Robin's jaw hung open.

"Don't tell me you didn't hear about it, Robin," Fado said, frowning.

"On the contrary," he replied, "It was all anyone talked about for years. I just had no idea that he had a son. Or stepson, as it were."

"Ashnard was tried by a Ylissean court the very next day and hanged shortly after he was found guilty. Unfortunately, no one was particularly satisfied with that resolution—not Ylisseans or Plegians, and so, even after his death, the weight of the sins of the father have been laid squarely upon the son."

"Ah… I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Apoleus."

"Don't trouble yourself over it. It's something I've dealt with for quite some time."

"But, if you don't mind my asking, what does that have to do with Ms. Viscount, or the documents you received?"

"Ah, y-yes, that's the thing… You see, included with the usual mix of regulatory papers, Leila had snuck in an independent investigation she'd commissioned from a man living in Ostia. The result showed evidence strongly indicating that Ashnard hadn't really killed the king."

"R-Really?! But that's great news for you! Why keep that secret?"

"The group that my stepfather led… they were only emboldened by his execution. They've attacked Plegians and Ylisseans alike, and their following has grown in the years since then. If it were to come out that Ylisse had executed an innocent man, the effects on Ylisse could be catastrophic. Not to mention, Plegians would be livid that Ylisse had failed to give them justice. It would spark an uproar that would mean the end of my career at best and the beginning of a war at worst."

Robin swallowed hard. "That's… a pretty compelling reason, I suppose. But wait, then what were you and Leila fighting over?"

"Despite my telling her exactly what I just told you, she was berating me for not having the courage to tell the public the truth. Even when I told her it wasn't so simple, she just kept on about it, so I asked her to stop, and I… may have raised my voice in the process."

"I take it your other arguments were on a similar subject."

Pelleas nodded.

Robin sat back down. "Well… this complicates matters pretty substantially."

"I'll say," Fado agreed.

"I guess there's only conclusion we can draw from all this, huh?"

"Go on," Fado said, turning to face his pupil with eyes full of interest.

"If Leila had that information, and she was giving it to Pelleas, but she ended up dead… I'd be willing to bet gold to grapes that someone didn't want that transfer to happen. Do you know what became of the case, Mr. Apoleus?"

"I haven't seen it since I was arrested. I understood it was seized by the police as evidence," the blue-haired ambassador answered.

"But no one brought it up," Robin finished his thought, "So there's some argument to be made that I'm not _way_ off-base."

"Yeah, but try bringing it up with no context." Fado laughed. "Ursula'll have a field day."

"Right, so what do we do?"

"Keep going like you were. Work backwards until we have a leg to stand on. So, someone didn't want the info to get to Pelleas. Who? Why?"

"It'd have to be someone with an interest in Ylisse-Plegia politics. Maybe they didn't want the results of Leila's investigation to get out. Or maybe they wanted to make the revelation themselves and sow chaos in both countries."

"Equally valid but mutually exclusive deductions, my boy. Which do you think is more likely?"

"Well, the murder happened some time ago, and we haven't heard anything yet. My guess is they just wanted to keep it quiet."

"Good thinking. So, what does that tell us?"

"Not much. The members of Ashnard's group would definitely want the truth to get out, and so would just about anyone else I can think of… at least on paper. Maybe there was a government official who was worried Pelleas was actually going to take Leila's advice."

"Now there's a thought. Certainly makes our situation that much more interesting, but who do you suppose would do that? And why wouldn't they just speak to Pelleas, if that's the case?"

"Maybe the person was Plegian, and whatever their endgame, it was to ultimately serve Plegia, so directly contacting a Ylissean ambassador wouldn't be a good move. As for who would be in such a situation, I haven't got a clue. If any of this is leading up to something, it's something far greater than I can fathom right now."

"Well, why not ask the ambassador?" Fado said, lifting his hand to gesture at the young, blue-haired man.

"Good point," Robin agreed, "Mr. Apoleus, do you know any Plegians who might have been especially interested in getting their hands on that information?"

"Several, if they knew about it," Pelleas answered, "but few who would choose to withhold it afterward."

"Anyone in particular?"

"My knowledge of the Plegian criminal world is somewhat limited, but, if memory serves, Abdiel Weissman had a son who became a bit of a ruffian when his family was removed from the palace."

"That's right," Fado thought aloud, "Weissman had a son, but he never inherited the throne."

"He was pushed out when the Reformation Government was installed, right after the assassination," Robin added, "It was a big point in Plegian political history: the constitutional monarchy they'd established gave way to a more theocratic system, as the leader of the Plegian clergy at that time was installed in Abdiel's place."

"Still… would Abdiel Weissman's son want to _hide_ the identity of his father's killer?"

Robin shook his head. "It doesn't really add up, does it?"

"It doesn't. And moreover, we're getting a bit off-track. Let's bring those lofty conspiracy theories back down to the level of this trial: who would've tried to intercept the message? Or, more accurately, who _could have_ intercepted it?"

"Technically, anyone in the café, but the prosecution has claimed over and over that only the waitstaff were moving at the time."

"But we're about to see whether or not that holds true."

"Right. A lot is depending upon that next testimony. I wonder what the chef will be like…"

"In my experience," Fado said, leaning forward and pressing his index finger into his forehead, "There's only two types of chefs: big, hairy guys who laugh at everything and thin-as-a-rail strict types who hurl insults like baseballs."

"What about women?"

"Most fit into Category Two."

"Which one do you think we'll get?"

"It's a café, so my guess is a thin-as-a-rail type."

_Great. I really needed a lot more insults flying around today._

They were all distracted by a buzzing that came from Fado's pocket. He peered down at the screen and then met both their eyes apologetically before raising the phone to his ear. "What's the story?"

He listened and nodded.

"No, we're still at the trial. Yeah, quite a bit longer. Yep, looking like one of those days. Hm? Oh! Heh, he's doing just fine. He really warms up once he gets into the courtroom, heh heh! Uh-huh. Yeah? Oh, I hear you. Don't worry, I will. Ha ha! Nothing, nothing. All right. What? Of course, use my card. Yes, absolutely. I'll give you a call when we're finishing up. All right. Thanks, doll." Fado ended the call and stowed the phone back in his pocket. "That was my secretary, Anna," he said to Pelleas, "She wanted to make sure we hadn't gotten lost, ha ha!"

"She worries after Fado like crazy," Robin added, "She calls him all the time when we're away from the office."

"She likes to keep an eye on me for my wife's sake. If you want the truth, I think she pays Anna a little bonus to spy on me." Fado let out another bolt of laughter. "And she wanted me to wish you good luck on her behalf, Robin."

"Really?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Funny, I had it in my head that she didn't like me very much."

"That may well be. Could be she's only being polite." Fado laughed again as if this was greatly amusing.

_Sure. Dash my hopes of having a good relationship with my only coworker. That's hilarious, Fado._

"Well," Fado continued, sitting back into the sofa, "I think we've made some good progress, and I'm glad to see you looking a lot less nervous, lad. I think, with enough work, we can turn this trial right around. We're just missing a few more pieces."

_Pieces like "who, what, when, how, and why," yeah. Nice and easy. And what does he mean by progress? We're right back where we started before we left the courtroom! We still need to hear the testimony to find out if Amelia or Forde was telling the truth, and then we have to figure out what that means for our case quickly, or we're done for._

"You look worried, son," Fado told Robin, smiling at him, "There's no need to despair. You should be busy reviewing the evidence we've collected so far. Once you've got it all in your head, you should be able to start making the connections you'll need in order to win this trial."

"I wish it were as easy as that," said Robin.

"Let me give you a tip," his mentor went on, "remember what you did just a bit ago: you recalled a bit of minor information that Pelleas let slip early on in the trial, and you used it to drag a bigger truth out of him because the situation you had uncovered thus far re-contextualized that minor information. That's where you should be focusing your efforts: knowing what you know, does the meaning of anything you _thought_ you knew suddenly change?"

"…Fado, if you know the answer, you don't have to be so cagey."

"Ha ha! I don't know a thing more than you do, boy. I'm giving you ways to think about the trial, that's all."

_Only Fado could be so confident about not knowing anything._

Suddenly, the three turned their heads as a guard opened the door to the court. "Defense, court will reconvene in a few minutes. Please head inside."

They rose up from their seats and walked to the door.

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Mid—end]


	15. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Latter

[April 17th, 12:51 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

The air was sharp as both counsels reentered the courtroom. Chatter between members of the gallery hummed and droned like an electrical buzz as they took their positions and looked up at the judge, who was watching the lawyers enter. When he saw that they were both prepared, he slammed his gavel down on his desk and called for order.

"Court will now reconvene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus," he announced, "When we left off, Ms. Verra, you were entrusted with preparing a witness for further examination. Is that witness now prepared?"

"Y-Yes, Your Honor," she stammered, "but please forgive the witness a bit of… eccentricity. He's not from this country, and some of his manners are not quite befitting a court."

"That is of no concern. Please bring the witness forward so that we may continue."

Urusla did as she was told while Robin and Fado exchanged glances. When they looked back to the witness stand, a broad-figured man with a thick mane of forest-green hair stood before them. "Mane" was not an exaggeration, either—his entire face was encircled by this thick hair, not the least of which coated his chin in an impressive beard and finely-tailored mustache. His pupils were small, a bit wild-looking, and he had a prominent beak of a nose that hung out like a stony gargoyle watching over the aforementioned mustache. Frankly, the man looked ridiculous. The fact that he happened to be wearing his grease-stained apron (presumably from working at the café) only accentuated that fact, as it only drew more attention to his rotund figure. Still, he seemed to be in somewhat good spirits about the whole thing, looking at both counsels with amusement in his eyes.

"Name and occupation for the record, witness," Ursula commanded.

"I'm Dozla Spokony," the green-maned man told the court at a much higher volume than Ursula, "I'm the cook and the owner of the Posto Ladro Café. A little birdie tells me you folks need little ol' me to help you answer some questions."

"That's right," said the judge, "some important contradictions have appeared in certain testimonies, and it is this court's hope that yours can resolve them."

"Hah! It wouldn't be the first time, old boy! Looks like ol' Dozla's gotta save the day all over again!"

"Yes, so, Mr. Spokony, if we may—" Ursula was quickly interrupted.

"I was just tellin' the prosecutor-lady over there how lucky she is to have to mighty Dozla in her corner! Ah ha ha ha! I mean, here I was, just finishin' off a late breakfast for the missus, then, all of a sudden, I got police bangin' on my door! I tell, ya, ol' Dozla figured it was some old debt finally catchin' up on him! Imagine my surprise when I found out they want me to testify! Wah ha ha ha!"

"Mr. Spokony, if we could…"

"Normally, I'd'a slammed the door in their face then and there, but here was this pretty young prosecutor girl, and she was throwin' orders left and right—reminded me of a girl I used to work for. What can I say, I'm a sucker for pretty gals that know what they like! Ha ha ha ha!"

Robin watched this display with nothing short of incredulity written on his face. _Geez, if he keeps this up, he might even beat Fado in his laughing quotient for the day_.

Fado had his arms folded and his cheeks tight in a smile of restraint.

"Mr. Spokony!" Ursula slammed her hands on her desk, "That will be quite enough of your rambling! This is a criminal trial, and you will take it seriously!"

"Wah ha ha! Whatever you say, lass!" He grinned at her.

Ursula scoffed and looked around the room before her eyes settled on Robin.

_Don't look at me. You got yourself into this._

Ursula turned her head to the side, as if looking at the bearded man before her were too much at this point. "Your Honor, would you please bring the witness to heel?"

"Mr. Spokony," the judge said, tugging at his own beard, "while this court appreciates your enthusiasm, we do need to go on with the trial now, if you'd be so kind."

"Of course!" he said, placing his fists squarely against his hips, "I'll get right down to testifyin' whenever you folks are ready!"

Settling down, Ursula faced him again. "Mr. Spokony, will you tell the court what you witnessed on the day of the blackout—the day of Ms. Viscount's death?"

"You got it!" he exclaimed with a nod, "Right, well, that day was a scorcher, for sure. Inside the kitchen, that is—outside it was stormy. Maybe a little humid, but just that _kind_ of humidity that makes for those big showers and lightning that arcs across the sky—know what I mean? Makes a man's blood boil, ha ha! Anyhow, I was workin' in the kitchen just like normal, and you wouldn't believe how hot it gets when you gotta wear three hair nets at once! It was a busy day, then, and I hardly left the kitchen except to do my business and clean up every once in a while. It wasn't 'til I saw ol' Forde stumble into the lounge that things started picking up. His face was pretty pale; I guessed he musta spent another night drinking too much. Real social butterfly, that one. So, anyway, time marches on and the lights went out, but I went on cooking for a bit—so many orders! Anyway, we've had electric problems in the past. I figured a bulb had just gone out over my head, so I kept at it, but I had to stop when it got so dark that I just couldn't see. I wandered into the dining room and bumped into Amelia. Poor girl was worryin' her head off, and she told me that the lights in the whole building had gone off! Ha, and I had no idea! Well, bein' the only man in the place with half a brain for this sorta stuff, I figured it mighta been a problem with the breaker. Sure enough, I went into the lodge, unlocked the breaker, and switched it back on and—bam! Let there be light! And that's the tale of how Dozla saved the day for the 1,872nd time! Ah ha ha ha! Er, well, and then there was the whole thing with the murder… I was the one who called the police, too. After I made that call, I had Forde guard the rear exit while I took the front so no one could get out. Thankfully, the back door stays locked during the day, so even if someone had tried getting out that way, it wouldn't have done 'em any good. It was a long day, altogether."

_I hope that wasn't a real count, especially if that's what he considers "saving the day."_

"Now," Fado said, knocking Robin out of his own head, "I know the witness is quite a cut-up, lad, but don't let that distract you from the fact that he just said something important. I'd recommend following up ASAP."

"Right."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I believe it is now your turn to cross-examine the witness, if you're ready."

"I am. Thank you, Your Honor," Robin said, shifting his focus outward, "Mr. Spokony, there are a few things you mentioned in your testimony that I find very interesting. I'd like to ask you a bit more about them, if you don't mind."

"Hah! I may be a little older than you, lad, but you don't have to go gettin' all formal with ol' Dozla! Ask away!"

"First, I want to clarify, since you didn't mention it: did you see the victim's body?"

"That I did, lad," he said soberly, "that I did."

"Did you know the victim at all?"

"Sure as I'm alive, I did. Little Leila was a regular at my place. She came by a lot, especially on rainy days, like that one. She was always lookin' over some important stuff. After a few months of comin' in and not sayin' much to anyone, I walked over to 'er in a free moment and asked what she was up to, and she gives me a big ol' smile that warmed my heart. She tells me she works for the government and can't talk much about it, and I says that's fine, but then she says she's real glad someone interrupted her for a bit, on account of she was losing her mind, ha ha! Well, I went about tellin' her I was the cook and the place's owner, and she got real happy, thanking me for everything I'd made. She was a charmer, no doubt! Then she asks if I can make her biscotti, because she always used to have it with her coffee before her favorite place shut down. Well, we don't have biscotti on our menu, but I just couldn't say no to such a nice young lady, so I made it for her, and didn't she come back asking for it again the next day, ha ha! I been making her biscotti nearly every day since, and no one else. She's a dear friend. Or… she was, until this ugly business came about."

_Looks like this was personal for Mr. Spokony. I'm surprised he didn't speak up right away. Maybe he was just to aggrieved to say anything when they asked for testimony. Poor guy. I hope asking that didn't upset him too much._

"Thank you," Robin said, "Next, I just want to verify that you said you saw Forde Willow enter the employee lounge before the lights went out, is that right?"

"Sure is, lad. Sure is."

"Then, clearly, the testimony of Amelia Arealla can't be taken as fact. We've just listened to the witness verify the fact that the only other person on the floor at the time of blackout was in the employee lounge at that moment. This would mean that Ms. Arealla may be lying to this court, which would place her in a very serious—"

"Objection!" Ursula extended her hand at the defense attorney. "Mr. LeBlanc, before you go getting ahead of yourself, please remember that I am not so foolish as to let anything that obvious slip by me. Mr. Spokony, please tell the defense what you told me about the state of the lounge when you entered it."

"Ah, right. The lounge was empty when I went in there, son. I figured Forde musta gone back to it."

"W-What?!" Robin started, "B-But that's…!"

Ursula wagged her finger at him. "Tut tut, Mr. LeBlanc. Such outbursts are unbecoming a proper lawyer. The fact is this: despite what he heard, the witness saw no one in the lounge when he entered to fix the lighting issue. Thus, we resolve all the defense's posturing at once—now, Amelia Arealla, Forde Willow, and Dozla Spokony's testimonies all line up perfectly. There can surely be no doubt that everything is as I and the police department deduced."

"Th-That… that can't be."

"And why not? Mr. LeBlanc, I admire your sense of dedication. You've done well to stand so long against a prosecutor appointed by the state. Even in failure, you may exit this courtroom with your head held high, but the fact of the matter is that you've lost. Prolonging things like this only reflects on you as desperate and sad. Don't tarnish your burgeoning reputation—give up, and accept the way things are."

_D-Damn it! All this prep time, all that new information—was it a waste? Is there really nothing else I can say?_

"Take a deep breath, Robin."

"Fado?"

"Concentrate. She's trying to end this by getting in your head."

"But I've got nothing! I came this far, and we're still right back at the beginning—I don't have any evidence I can use against her! Everything I've done to try to move the focus around in this trial, she just closes the loophole like it's nothing!"

"Robin!" His voice became sterner. "You're panicking. Take a moment and collect your thoughts if you don't want to be overwhelmed."

"C-Collect my thoughts? But—"

"No 'buts!' That's an order from your boss!"

Robin did as he was told, swallowing a mouthful of air, letting it build in his chest, and expelling it slowly.

"Good," said Fado, "Now, let's think this through rationally. Right now, we've got two competing stories: one says that Ms. Arealla and Mr. Willow were both in the dining room when the murder happened. The other says that Mr. Willow was in the employee lounge at the time. There's no way both of those things could be true at the same time. So now, which one is true?"

"…I don't know. I thought Forde had to have been in the lounge, but now Mr. Spokony said he wasn't…"

"Don't be taken in by her cockiness, Robin. Think for a minute: didn't she present an earlier piece of evidence about Forde?"

"Ah. That's right, the medical examiner's report. But I don't see how that helps us…"

"Think a little harder. What did the report say, again?"

"Hm? Well, it diagnosed him with heatstroke, said he should get some rest and fluids, mentioned that his judgment might have been impaired for a bit, and said that he might have choked himself struggling to get his uniform off. Wait. Oh!"

"Got it now?" Fado was smiling.

"I… think so? If Forde took his uniform off, it was probably still in the room, right? In fact, I think I remember Ursula saying the police found it there."

"There you go. And that means?"

"If Dozla didn't see his uniform… then it wouldn't make sense that he had gone in before Dozla, right?"

"Sound logic to me. Much easier when you're thinking clearly, don't you think so, son?"

"If only it were that easy."

"It is if you make it. Go on, now. You're not afraid. You can do it."

"Right."

"Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "Are you finished deliberating with your co-counsel? Now would be the time to make any final thoughts known, or I'll have to render my verdict immediately."

"One more question for Mr. Spokony," said the young attorney, "Did you happen to see Mr. Willow's uniform on the floor when you entered the room?"

"Now that you mention it," the man tugged at his beard and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, projecting the image of the room onto it, "No, I didn't see it until after the doctors came to check up on the kid."

"Are you satisfied, Mr. LeBlanc?" Ursula frowned at the defense.

Robin smiled and nodded. "I am. Objection!"

"Oh, not really… You can't be serious."

"Mr. Spokony, you just told the court that you saw Forde Willow enter the employee lounge before entering it yourself several minutes later. When you entered the room, however, you claim you didn't see his uniform, which, it was noted by both the police and the medical examiner who evaluated him, was lying plainly on the floor of the room. Therefore, I say your testimony is impossible!"

"Objection!" Ursula was scowling. "On what do you base that? How do you know the witness didn't re-enter the lounge and take the uniform off then?"

"That would contradict the medical examiner's report, which stated that he nearly choked himself trying to remove it while suffering from heatstroke."

"But… but, he could have simply thrown it off, picked it up and taken it with him when he recovered his senses, and then thrown it back on the floor later!"

"That'd be an oddly convoluted thing to do for no reason. What's more, it would also contradict the current witness's testimony. Mr. Spokony, you said you had Forde guard the rear exit as soon as you realized what happened, didn't you?"

"Sure did!"

"And he stayed at that position until the police arrived, which is when the uniform was collected as evidence."

"That's as true as can be."

Ursula flinched. She recovered by standing up straighter and brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "W-Well, that's all very good work, Mr. LeBlanc, but what do you intend to prove with all this?"

"Well," Robin said, folding his arms, "it has just been proven beyond a reasonable doubt that Forde did indeed enter the lounge before Dozla did, and yet, according to Dozla's testimony, neither he nor his uniform were present when he entered the lounge. Moreover, Amelia claimed she heard him walking around in the dining room when that would clearly be impossible."

"Yes, you've made a fine mess of good testimony. What of it?"

"There's something else Mr. Spokony mentioned that I'd like to ask him about."

"Wuh? Again? Uh, go ahead."

"You mentioned that the breaker you switched on was in the lounge, right?"

"Yep."

"And you had to unlock it to open it?"

"Yeah. Can't have kids or other people who don't know what they're doin' messin' around with electrical equipment like that."

"Are you the only one with the key to that breaker, Mr. Spokony?" Robin leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk.

Ursula groaned, "Oh, you are _not_ —"

"Nah. Amelia and Forde each have one, too, plus keys to the doors to lock the place up at night if I need to leave early."

Robin smiled. "Your Honor, I think I have a theory that could completely change the court's interpretation of these events."

"Really?" the judge said with wide-eyed interest, "Don't keep us in suspense, please!"

"See, up to now, everyone has been assuming that the café experienced a blackout because of the storm outside, but what if it was really caused by someone waiting for an opportunity?!"

"N-No way…!" Ursula grunted.

"Wh-What now?!" Dozla jumped up from behind the stand.

Chatter spread throughout the gallery.

"A most interesting theory, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "I'm curious—"

"Objection!" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk, "Explain, right now! How in the world can you propose something so ludicrous? Why would someone have done something like this?"

Robin shook his head. "Having thoroughly analyzed the situation, this is the only possibility that makes sense. Among the three witness's testimonies, all three of them contradict each other in some way, but none of them possess any discernible motive to lie, except to implicate the others, but, in that case, at least two of the accounts should agree, and the third should stand out. Besides that, none of the staff have any reason to kill the victim! That someone else is involved is the only way we could have three separate accounts of how things happened!"

"I think you should have your head thoroughly analyzed, with that kind of logic! You honestly expect me and the rest of this court to believe that because the cook failed to notice a uniform, the _only_ logical possibility is that another figure was conspiring from the shadows all along?! Not that I really need to ask, but do you have _any_ _evidence whatsoever_ that might support this little theory of yours?"

Robin frowned. _Not a speck. I guess I should've known better than to fly off the handle like that_.

Fado smiled, looking down at his protégé. "Don't tell me you're throwing in the towel? Remember, the prosecution's evidence is your evidence, too. Shouldn't there be something else amiss if another person was present?"

Robin's eyes flashed. "That's it! I don't know what I'd do without you, Fado!"

"It's what I'm here for," the senior attorney said, folding his arms in satisfaction.

Robin looked back at Ursula. "I think I just might have the evidence you're after. I want to take a look at those security tapes you mentioned!"

"Objection! There's no use in doing that. The tapes cut out before the crime occurred. They can't tell us anything we don't already know."

"Objection! Ms. Amelia Arealla testified that the entire dining room was 'packed' most of the day, including the time when the victim and defendant were being served. What if we were to look on those cameras and spot an empty table? Or, better yet, a table with food or drinks, but no one sitting there?"

"Why, that would mean someone had left their seat near the time of the crime…" the judge said.

 _Thanks for the assist, Your Honor_. "If we check the tapes, we can prove that someone else had the opportunity to kill the victim!"

"G-Gah!" Ursula doubled over.

"Bailiff," the judge commanded, "bring the monitor in. Get that footage playing right away!"

The bailiff sighed and wheeled a monitor into the room on a black cart. He plugged the monitor and a small DVD player into the wall and placed a disk inside the machine, listening to it hum as it started.

The clip shown portrayed the scene much as it had been described by the staff: the café was filled to the brim with patrons all chatting and drinking or eating, and the lone waiter and waitress scuttled through the room busily for minutes on end, attending to every table they could along the way. Suddenly, a man got up from his table and began walking. "Wait," Robin called out, "rewind a few seconds and look down there, at the bottom-right."

The video rewound and showed the same figure, a man dressed mostly in black with stringy blue hair and a pronounced nose watched Forde pass him by, then rose from his seat and walked to the back of the café, leaving a glass of water and a heel of bread unattended on the table.

"Right there!" Robin exclaimed, "Just as I thought: this man left the room right before the crime occurred! That means he could have just as easily committed the crime himself!"

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "Just a moment! I will concede that this footage proves that someone left his seat prior to the crime, but I will not for a moment entertain the idea that he killed the victim. On what sort of evidence do you base a conclusion like that? How can you possibly prove where he went afterward?"

"Well, in order to prove it decisively, I'd need his testimony to compare…"

"Oh no, that trick won't work again. I won't bother asking the police department to go and round up another altogether innocent party because you're unable to adequately do your job! You will explain to me right now how you can claim that this man could have killed Ms. Viscount!"

"'Could have?'" Robin took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, I'll prove conclusively that this person had the means to kill the victim."

Ursula only growled a bit.

"Good to see you showing a bit more confidence, my boy," Fado said, "You're even taking me a bit by surprise, here."

_That makes two of us._

"Just the same, are you sure you're ready to go ahead with this?"

"Yeah. I've thought about this case for a while now, and this is the only way things make any sense. I know this mystery person is guilty, I just have to prove that it was possible for him to be the killer instead, and I'll get a chance to question him properly. Then I can take him down."

"Ah, the ardor of youth. Warms these old bones, so it does."

Robin cleared his throat and addressed the court. "As I said before, there are three separate accounts of what happened at the time of the crime that conflict with one another in some way. The first came from Ms. Arealla, who claimed that she heard her coworker, Mr. Willow, walking around the dining room at the time of the crime. The easiest explanation to resolve this contradiction with the other two testimonies, which place Forde in the employee lounge, is to suppose that someone else was walking around at the time."

"But you can't prove that it wasn't Mr. Willow!" Ursula protested, "And even if it wasn't, you can't prove that this other person tried to poison the victim!"

"Hold it! The next contradiction is tougher to resolve: a delirious Forde Willow enters the employee lounge, suffering from heatstroke. Dozla sees him enter. In this time, he passes out and discards his uniform shirt. When Dozla returns and reactivates the breaker, he fails to notice Forde or his shirt in the now brightly-lit room. Regardless, Forde and his shirt both appear in that room after the fact. How could that be?"

"Clearly, one of them isn't telling the—"

"What if, after he lost consciousness, someone transported Forde to another room, say, the bathroom right across the hall, before the power was restored, and then returned him once the lights came back on?"

"Objection! 'What if' indeed! How could anyone have known that Mr. Willow would lose consciousness in the lounge?"

Robin shook his head. "They didn't."

"What?"

"You'll notice that before he heads to the back, our mystery patron glances at Forde, as if sizing him up. This person planned to render Forde unconscious as soon as he went back to the lounge, heatstroke or no. Being assaulted would also account for the abrasion on Forde's neck."

"But how could he have known Forde would enter at just that time?"

"He didn't have to. He watched to make sure Forde wasn't looking, then ducked into the room and waited for Forde to go there, prepared to take his chance whenever it came."

"Why in the world would he do something like that?"

"When Forde entered, the patron knocked him out to take his uniform, which he then donned as he hid the unconscious body elsewhere. He then used Forde's keys to unlock the breaker and shut off the lights. In the dark, with his face obscured, anyone could mistake this mystery patron for Forde Willow, giving him the chance to move about the dining room without being detected, even letting him approach the victim's table…"

"Just a minute! Are you honestly telling me that Mr. Willow failed to notice someone lying in wait for him in a room with no ostensible hiding spots?"

"It's as you described earlier, Ms. Verra: Mr. Willow's functioning and judgment were impaired, and his memory of the moment is hazy at best. If we can believe he almost choked himself to death trying to take off his shirt in a haze, is it any less likely he didn't notice someone waiting to grab him and knock him out? After all, the witness only specifically testified about feeling a tightness in his throat."

"N-No! But that…"

"The mystery patron, disguised as Forde, leaves the bathroom, Forde's body safely stowed therein. He then walks through the dining room, drops the poison in the victim's cup, and walks away, unnoticed, and returns to the bathroom. In this time, Dozla enters the employee lounge, opens the breaker, activates the lights, and goes back out to the dining room to speak with Amelia and, eventually, learn about the body. As he does so, the patron drags Forde back into the lounge, throws his uniform off in haste, and flees to the dining room to reintegrate with the other patrons in the confusion. When Forde regains consciousness, he is exactly where he remembers being, and so he rejoins the other staff and helps block the exits. What do you think of that, Ms. Verra?"

"I have a simple but very important question for you, Mr. LeBlanc," she said in reply, "The keyring for the circuit breaker also held the key to the front and back exits of the café. Why did this patron not simply unlock the back door, or, even more simply, run out the front door when he had the chance?"

"If he did, someone would realize what had happened. If he left out the front door, he would have been spotted and heard fleeing the scene just before the body was discovered, and if he used the key on the back door, he would have needed to either ditch the keys somewhere nearby or keep them on his person. In either case, someone would realize they had been moved, and would have put the pieces together."

Ursula grit her teeth, but remained silent.

"Ms. Verra," the judge said, "do you have any further questions?"

"I… I…" The prosecutor continued to stammer for several seconds more before slamming her fist on her desk and letting her hair hang low. The judge's eyes widened in concern, but before he could say anything, she lifted her head again. "No, Your Honor. Loath though I am to say it… I cannot conjure any reason to object to the defense's claim. I must concede that it is possible that another party was responsible for the murder of Leila Viscount. However, this means that the defense now has no choice but to indict this individual if they wish to proceed with their case."

Robin nodded. "I'm comfortable with that. I will formally indict the person shown leaving the dining room as soon as I know his name."

"Since records were taken of everyone present at the café at the time the police arrived, summoning this individual to testify on his own behalf will take some time, but can be done without fail. I would ask for another brief recess from His Honor."

"You shall most certainly have it," said the judge, "I can sense everyone in the court is wearing down a bit, as I'm feeling that fatigue myself. We will halt the proceedings for one hour, in which time the prosecution should prepare its witness. I strongly advise that both counsels also eat something and rest a bit. It wouldn't do to have a pair of exhausted attorneys carry out the end of this trial, would it?"

"No, Your Honor," both counsels replied.

"Good. Then this court is now in recess!"

[April 17th, 2:03 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

"Heh. I expected this one to be complex, but despite all my years of experience, I never expected it to go on quite this long," Fado said, combing his fingers through his hair and, afterward, his beard, "The amount of effort you've put in so far has been frankly astonishing, Robin."

Robin didn't say anything.

"Robin? Lad?" his mentor repeated.

The young attorney was bent over a clutter of paperwork, although his eyes weren't moving. He sat and stared fixedly at the page with no response.

"I'm talking to you, son," Fado told him, slapping him firmly on the back, "As your boss, that means I need you to answer."

"Oh!" he jumped, "Sorry. I just… my heart is beating so fast after all that, I can hardly focus. I never thought I'd get this far, but now we're about to hear from a witness with almost no preparation… And he might very well be the one responsible. How do I go about handling this? He'll deny what I'm saying, of course, so how can I go about refuting him? It's a completely unknown element!"

"Easy, lad. You won't get anything done by letting your brain move a million miles a minute. You've got to keep thinking as clearly as you can, all right? You already have your set of facts, so stick to those for as long as you can. This is the pivotal moment in the trial: you've got your story, and the prosecution has theirs. All you have to do at this point is convince the jury that yours is more probable than hers, and that all comes together if you can make it look like our witness is being dishonest. Now, you truly believe Pelleas is innocent, don't you?"

"Of course. At this point, there's no doubt in my mind, especially after seeing that video."

"Then you've got everything you need. If Pelleas isn't guilty, then this witness is the only person who can be, so conduct your questioning from that perspective. Don't go all-out with your accusations, though: game the witness a little. Unless you're incredibly lucky, you're not going to get an outright confession on the stand. You'll just have to goad the truth out of him, little by little, until you get the jury on your side against him."

Robin took a deep breath. "Your experience really shows, Fado. Even in a situation as tense as this, here you are teaching me."

He grinned. "I've been in my fair share of tense situations, lad. This is just another teachable moment. You'll have to start getting used to this feeling."

_That'll be awfully hard to do, although I really do appreciate Fado's help. I thought he was throwing me to the wolves by giving me this case, but I can see it all so clearly now, and it doesn't seem quite so untouchable. This must have been how he saw it from the start. Incredible, that he could size it up so quickly—it took me the entire trial to get to this point! Did he even figure out the bit about the real culprit? What I wouldn't give to have his skills… but that's a thought for later. That goal begins with the step of finally getting this trial figured out. There's only one obstacle left in my way, but what is he going to say in response to all this?_

"Mr. LeBlanc, a moment?"

Robin looked up from his page to see the dark-blue-encompassed visage of Pelleas Apoleus staring back at him. If he wasn't mistaken, Robin could swear he saw a smile tugging at the corner of the ambassador's cheek.

"Mr. Apoleus," Robin said, lifting his eyebrows, "Of course, is there something you wanted to say about the case?"

"Not this time," he replied, "you seem to have my thinking beat by several steps at this point. It's all I can do to keep up! No, this time, I simply wanted to extend my thanks."

"Your thanks? I hate to say it, but we haven't won yet."

"That's not quite what I meant. I meant for being my counsel in this trial. I mentioned my concerns about your qualifications earlier in this trial, but the fortitude of your defense hasn't waned even a little throughout this whole trial. You've believed in me when I felt that most everyone I knew had given up, and…"

Sensing the mood, Robin nodded. "No need to worry, Mr. Apoleus. It's my job to fight as hard for you as I can, and to stick with you in the roughest times. If not for belief in my clients, as a lawyer, I'd have nothing."

The ambassador now clearly showed a smile, albeit a rocky one that alternated with quick sniffles. "I told you about my father… for that reason, I've never been treated very well in public office, either. You know, it wasn't my idea to become ambassador. That was a part of my father's schemes. That's all I ever really was to him: a pawn. Something to be used and then discarded when he was finished. But now I've outlived him—the tool discards its owner. Life is cruel that way."

"Mr. Apoleus…?"

"Forgive me. Today has been an emotional day, and I fear all my bitterness is rising to the top along with my joy. I always wanted to take up a paintbrush and live out in the country. If you could do me the great service of setting me free, Mr. LeBlanc… I should like to pursue that dream."

"It's certainly a dream worth pursuing. I'll get you there, Mr. Apoleus. You have my promise."

"Thank you. Your confidence means everything to me. And I suppose I also ought to thank you, Mr. Verlaine."

"Who, me?" Fado laughed, "No need. I've only been giving tips, like a good mentor should. Robin has done everything he's done today on his own."

Robin nodded appreciatively at his mentor.

"Somebody order delivery?"

The three men turned their heads to the glass doors of the lobby as they swung shut. Beyond them, a redheaded woman carried several styrofoam containers in plastic bags hanging from her arms.

"Anna!" Fado jumped up to help her. "We certainly did. Come on, grab a seat. Mr. Apoleus, you may remember my secretary, Ms. Anna Vendise."

The redhead followed her employer over to the sofa and laid the containers on the table before them. Each of them opened a container to find an array of tantalizing food inside: in front of Robin, a chunk of ground beef slathered with cheddar cheese oozed juice from under a brioche roll. He picked it up hesitantly, not sure if he deserved the treat, but bit into it hungrily when both Fado and Anna gave him a nod.

As the group began to eat their food, Fado set about describing their exploits in the courtroom that day, making sure to emphasize Robin's successes and editorializing a bit about how confident the young attorney had been throughout all of the proceedings. Robin didn't feel particularly compelled to protest, especially with his cheeseburger never straying far from his mouth as they spoke, but he did find it a little strange that Fado was giving him so much credit in front of the only other employee in their office—Anna knew all about Robin, and she knew the person Fado was describing wasn't him. Still, just as curiously, she never really protested or tried to dig for details except when they pertained to the case. She just listened intently and picked bits of what Robin eventually realized were mixed fruits and chunks of chicken breast out of her box.

"And that brings us up to now." Fado concluded his explanation and swallowed a forkful of herb-crusted lamb.

"Wow," Anna remarked, "No wonder it's been such a long day. Good thing you guys have me or you'd have starved to death."

"Tell me about it," Fado said, patting his stomach.

"And hey, nice work, newbie," Anna continued, giving her coworker a playful glance across the table, "Sounds like you're doing the office proud."

"Er, thanks," said Robin. This was the first time he could recall her complimenting him since he started working for Fado's firm.

"I guess you're not a _total_ screw-up after all," she said between her teeth.

That was more what he had been expecting. Perhaps she was trying to act a bit more civil with the client sitting so close. Said client was deeply engrossed in a flaky spanakopita and unable to hear the jeer.

"Did you come all the way down here just to bring us lunch, Anna?" Robin asked, "Not that I don't appreciate it, but you're usually too busy for things like that."

"When the boss man calls, you pick up the phone," she said matter-of-factly, gesturing with her open palm to Fado, "He's the one that signs my paychecks, so if he wants me to grab him some lunch, I'll get him some lunch."

"I thought a little food and a familiar face might give you a little extra confidence boost before things get too serious," said Fado, smiling at his protégé.

"This is a delightful meal," Pelleas interjected, swallowing, "thank you for your consideration, Mr. Verlaine. And for your graciousness in bringing it to us, Ms. Vendise."

"Aw, no worries," Anna replied, giving the blue-haired man her biggest grin. She certainly wasn't shy about accepting praise.

"It's germane to our objective to have everyone in top condition," Fado continued, "Just make sure you digest everything well before we head into the courtroom. I've made that mistake enough times…"

"What was that, sir?" asked Robin, "You trailed off."

"Nothing, lad. Keep your chin up, and be ready for whatever's coming, all right? You know you have my full support in there."

"And mine, of course," Pelleas added.

Anna was about to eat another piece of chicken before she got a gentle nudge from her boss. "O-Oh, uh, yeah… Go get 'em."

While Anna was no help, to know that Fado and Pelleas acknowledged his ability did indeed give Robin a surge of confidence he hadn't quite been expecting. He now felt prepared to go and face whatever lie in the courtroom. He was ready to face the mystery witness, finally liberate his client, and return to the office a full-fledged lawyer. At last, he could be redeemed. The next chapter in his life all hinged on the next few hours.

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Latter—end]


	16. Turnabout Collapse: End

[April 17th, 3:05 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Both counsels settled back onto their respective benches as the gallery and jury seated themselves. The judge waited a few moments, gavel in hand, for the court to fall in line. When it seemed most of the commotion had died out, he swung his gavel and called for order. "Thank you. If everyone is prepared, then this court will now reconvene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus. When we last left our deliberations, Ms. Verra, you were tasked with retrieving a witness for whom the defense provided a plausible method of enacting the same crime for which Mr. Apoleus is charged. Since Mr. LeBlanc has declared his intent to formally indict the witness, it will be crucial that we extract some testimony for him in his own defense in order to bring this trial to a proper conclusion. To that end, Ms. Verra, do you have the witness in your custody?"

"I do," the prosecutor said with an especially cold look in her eyes, "And I would ask him to approach the witness stand now." As a tall, dark figure rose from the gallery, Ursula directed her cold eyes at Robin, who tried his best to match her glare, but she didn't seem the least bit daunted. Robin chose to look away, adequately unsettled, and focused his attention on the man who was now standing in the center of the court.

He was a strikingly tall man, probably at least six and a half feet tall, and he wore slimming black clothing all around: black pants held in place with a silver buckle and a black vest with a dark undershirt. He was also terrifically slim along his legs and arms—his chest was clearly a bit more muscular, showing that he was in good shape. His hair was long and cobalt blue, tied into a loose ponytail beyond his shoulders. His eyes were narrow and sharp, he sported a distinctly large and rounded bridge to his nose, and two red rings hung from each of his ears. His left hand was decorated with a silver ring.

"Your name and occupation for the court," Urusla demanded.

"My name," the man said in a deep voice that seemed steeped in bitterness, "is Naesala Scaltro. I'm a retired pilot of the Plegian Air Force."

Robin stared at the man intently. This was the criminal. Or, at least, so it seemed. It had to be, for there was no remaining explanation that could liberate Pelleas. For some reason Robin couldn't yet glean, this was the man who had murdered Leila Viscount and passed the buck onto Pelleas. He certainly fit the bill in looks: everything about his posture and expression told the court how much he hated being there, and how little he thought of them. Somehow, Robin would have to break past that confidence and dig into this man until he cracked. Recalling his mentor's words about entropy, Robin thought to speak up. "Are you married, Mr. Scaltro?" Robin asked, pointing to the ring on his finger.

Naesala Scaltro raised his eyebrows, as if acknowledging the attorney for the first time. "Hm? This? No, this is a memento from a bond formed in earlier days."

"What sort of bond?"

"I signed a blood pact."

The whole court fell silent and stared at the witness. Even the judge seemed hesitant to say anything, and it was safe to say Robin had been thrown off.

Naesala laughed a loud and jeering laugh that echoed through the whole courtroom. "I'm kidding." He flashed the ring to everyone in the room. "It's a service reward for my years as a pilot. A bit like a class ring, but a little more valuable, since not everyone can get one."

"Mr. Scaltro," Ursula said, clearing her throat to indicate that she was wresting this conversation out of the defense's hands, "As you were told before you were called up here, the defense has presented a case against you, indicting you for the murder of Ms. Leila Viscount. In order to defend against this allegation, you will now be asked to testify as to your whereabouts and movements on the day of the crime."

"Sure," said the witness, pushing back some of his hair, "I've heard the lies this kid has been hawking, and I'm not too pleased about it, so I'll go ahead and set the record straight. This whole murder conspiracy is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I've heard some pretty dumb stuff in my day. I didn't get up from my table to knock somebody out and cut the power and put on a uniform and go kill some broad I've never met, plain and simple. I got up because I had to use the bathroom. Is that really so hard to believe? And I stayed in there a while because my stomach hurt—maybe on account of what I had at that café. Anyway, when I realized the lights had gone out in the bathroom, I figured it was because of the storm, so I just waited to see if it'd get fixed. I didn't want to have to fumble around with my pants in the dark, you know? And I made the right choice, because those lights came back on right quick, and then I sat back down, only to learn someone was dead. So yeah, to heard that I'm getting accused of murder because I had to use the john? I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all."

Robin pinched his chin as he listened to the testimony. When it ended, he turned to find his mentor doing nearly the same. "Sir," he said, "any advice on this one?"

"You've got your theory of events," Fado said, "and you did a pretty good job setting it up. If you can show some way that the witness's actions correspond with your theory, you'll be in good shape. Of course, as of right now, that's not really possible. He clearly needs to be lying, though, right? So, look for anything you might be able to call him out on. Even something small and stupid might drive a big enough wedge that you can go a little deeper."

"That makes sense. Thanks."

"Good luck, son."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I think we're all eager to hear your cross-examination," said the judge.

"Right away, Your Honor," the young attorney answered, "Mr. Scaltro, let me start by asking this: do you really not know the victim or defendant at all?"

"Nope. Why should I? They're just two shmucks at a café."

"But Mr. Apoleus is Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia."

"And? I'm ex-military, kid. I don't give a pigeon's feathers about some dressed-up politician."

_Clearly nothing doing there. If he knows about them, he's not about to spill it right now. Better ask about something else._

"You said you waited around in the bathroom, Mr. Scaltro—why?"

"Like I said, I didn't want to risk having to futz with my pants in a dirty bathroom when I can't see. These things cost me a ton."

"And would you have just stayed there the whole evening if the power hadn't come back on?"

"No, of course not, I just figured I'd wait it out to see if it was gonna be that big a deal. Turns out I was right and it wasn't."

_Hm. Well, he's staunch about his statements, if nothing else. Still, there must be some detail he omitted that I can capitalize on somewhere in here._

"You say you only learned that someone was dead after you sat down, Mr. Scaltro? How? Didn't you see the body?"

"Not really. She might have been slumped over, but I wasn't really paying attention. I only really had my eyes on my seat until I got back there, and then, when I sat down, that's when people started gathering around, and I realized something was up."

"When the witness saw the body is irrelevant to this case, anyway," the prosecutor added, "Unless you have something substantial to say about it, I suggest we drop this line of questioning."

 _It doesn't look like this track is getting me anywhere, either. Guess I'll just let this one pass_.

"Er, so you didn't hear or see anything else on your way back from the bathroom, Mr. Scaltro?" Robin asked.

"Nah. Except the cook—I saw him talking to the waitress, but that was about it. After I left the bathroom, I just made a beeline for my seat, and that was all.

_Darn. This is going nowhere. What he said lines up perfectly with the story as I presented it, so there's really nothing I can challenge him on, here. Shoot. What am I going to do? Every question I ask, his explanation is just too simple to get around! This is probably a result of him preparing with Ursula: she wanted to hear my whole version of events earlier in the trial so she could craft an alibi around it when I made my move. She's definitely still two steps ahead._

"You're making that face again, son," Fado said, eyes on the witness.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You can't be stumped so early, lad. You can put something together, here. I know you can."

"It's not as easy for me as it is for you, sir."

"Think of it as an exercise of your skills, then. There's no such thing as the perfect crime, lad: everybody makes mistakes. Do you think there's a small mistake our witness might have made?"

"I have no idea."

"Then take a guess. You won't be any worse off than if you had said nothing."

_How can a man inspire so much and so little confidence at the same time?_

"Mr. Scaltro," said Robin, "did you remember to pay your bill when you left the café?"

"Objection," Ursula called out, rolling her eyes, "absolutely irrelevant. Whether or not he paid will not change the witness's guilt in the murder of Ms. Viscount. There is no need to answer that question."

"I don't care," said Naesala, smirking at Robin, "No, I forgot. Tell you what, Mr. Attorney: I'll go pay 'em tomorrow. You can even come with me, if you want. Never known anyone to get so bent outta shape over the cost of a cup of coffee."

Several people in the gallery laughed, and Robin felt hot embarrassment pooling in his cheeks. Fado glanced down at his side for just a moment.

Ursula smiled and put her hand on her hip, pleased with her witness's wit. She projected this smile at Robin, and he squinted against its light.

_That didn't go well. To think, so much of this trial has been all centered on a little thing like a cup of coffee, and it keeps coming up. Although, now that I think of it, there's something not quite right about that—a cup of coffee. Why does that strike my ear wrong?_

"I think even the defense has run out of bluster for this court," Ursula said, standing back, "You really did perform admirably, Mr. LeBlanc. It has been quite some time since I was last so delayed in arriving at a verdict—I'll be studying my notes on this trial for weeks. But, unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and this ridiculous false narrative you've peddled must likewise conclude. I admit that you concocted a very plausible scenario, reaching in and rearranging details as you'd like, but you must realize now that things are not so complex as you attempted to make them seem. The fact is simple. After all, as I told you, I am always in complete control of my trials. I never miss a single detail. There is not one explanation I have not considered and prepared myself to combat."

_Urgh. Her self-assured attitude is really grating in such a long trial, but she has the ability to back up some of that bragging. There really hasn't been any explanation I've offered that she hasn't been in some way prepared to argue. Was this trial lost before it even began?_

"You're getting too worked up over the prosecutor," Fado said, his face expressionless. "Your job isn't to beat the opposition, lad. It's to drag out the truth, however you need to. Concentrate on the case, not the one presenting it."

"Yes, sir." _Fado's right. If my suppositions are correct, I'm looking at the criminal right now, and that means he must have lied about something, however trivial. Or… maybe he didn't lie. Maybe not intentionally, anyway. Maybe, in trying to mask the truth, he accidentally changed a detail that will reveal something. Wait, I think that's it!_

"Is your cross-examination finished, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, "If so, I believe the jury is prepared to render their verdict at any time."

"Not yet, Your Honor," Robin said. Ursula frowned at him and Naesala smirked, shaking his head. "Mr. Scaltro," the attorney continued, "allow me to repeat a few of your remarks for the court: you just said that you had 'Never known anyone to get so bent outta shape over the cost of a cup of coffee,' when asked about your failure to pay your bill. Is that right?"

"Yep. And it remains true," said the witness, shrugging. A few more laughs came from the gallery.

"Then I have another important question to ask, Mr. Scaltro: why did you say 'coffee?' Because you didn't drink any coffee while you were at the café."

One of Naesala's eyebrows shifted up. "What?"

"If you refer back to the security footage," Robin said, "You can look at the spot where we found you exiting the main room, Mr. Scaltro. Notice what's on the table there: water and bread, but no coffee to be found."

The witness was silent, but he was no longer smiling.

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "What's to say the witness didn't simply have some coffee before his water?"

"We can rewind the tape to when he entered, if you'd like," Robin replied, "but judging from the look on the witness's face, he knows I'm right."

"Don't be too pleased with yourself" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk. "What possible relevance could this detail have to the case at hand? So the witness forgot what he drank that day? What does that matter?"

"The court will recall the method by which Ms. Viscount was poisoned… perhaps that's the reason for the witness's specific lapse in memory…"

"Objection!" Ursula's frown had melted back into a smile, but her eyes were still burning. "Ha! Don't make me laugh! What a tremendous leap in logic! The witness remembers drinking coffee, the victim was killed by drinking poisoned coffee, ergo the witness must be the murderer! Are you even listening to yourself?"

Robin swallowed. "It's an admittedly, er… loose connection, but—"

"'But' nothing. How you even managed to pass the bar with such poor reasoning skills is beyond me. Don't make me rescind all the offers of respect I just gave you, Mr. LeBlanc. Concede defeat with some of your dignity intact."

_Damn. I thought that was my way out. It wasn't much, but I thought if I could just get it to stick…_

"You're losing 'em fast, kid," said Fado.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Fine: you give up now, and the momentum will swing permanently in the prosecution's favor. This is the only thing you've got right now, so seize on it. Double down. Sink your teeth into it and hold on for dear life."

_Double down? How? It was just a little detail about him being at the café! Could he have missed anything else?_

"If that's all, then—" the judge began.

"Wait! Just a moment, Your Honor!" Robin protested.

The judge grumbled, "You know, if you have something more to say, you should just say it instead of always waiting to interrupt me."

"Er, beg your pardon, Your Honor," said Robin, "but this is important—crucial, even!"

"Very well, proceed."

"Mr. Scaltro, something else I noticed from this tape: you get up, don't speak to any of the waitstaff, and go right to the bathroom—at least, so you say. That's a bit strange. According to Ms. Arealla, the bathroom's location in the back of the building, behind the kitchen, is confusing to a lot of patrons, and she has to explain it to many of them on a daily basis. Why did you get up and go right back there?"

"I want a hit of whatever you're on, kid," Naesala said, shaking his head derisively, "I'm pretty familiar with the Posto Ladro. I go there often enough, so I know where the stupid bathrooms are."

"O-Oh, really? What's your favorite dish?"

Naesala laughed. "You think you're gonna screw me up with that stupid video again? Yeah, I had some bread while I was there, but that's not my favorite. I was just popping in for a little snack. Usually, I go in for breakfast and get coffee and biscotti. That's my favorite."

"Can we be done with these stupid questions now, defense?" Ursula scowled at the attorney. "I don't much like having my time wasted like this."

_Gulp. I guess this is it. I tried to come up with something, Fado, but it looks like I'm just not quite at your level. I guess losing when I'm this far along isn't so bad… I can say I put up a hell of a fight…_

"Ah! Ahhh! AHHHHH!"

The court turned around to search for the source of the disruption. A certain big-figured, green-maned man rose from his seat, shouting as his pupils shrank.

"Silence, you oaf!" Ursula snapped, "Your interruptions are disturbing this court, and my patience has worn terribly thin!"

"B-But, but…!" Dozla stammered, "What he just said, it can't be!"

"If you don't sit down and be quiet, I'll silence you myself!" she growled.

"Just a moment," the judge said, staring down at the excited witness, " _I_ hold the highest authority in this courtroom. Mr. Spokony, your remarks are indeed disruptive. I will invite you to explain yourself, but if you have been interrupting my court for trivial matters, I will not be very kind to you."

"R-Right," Dozla said, his eyes darting everywhere, "but listen here: that fella just said his favorite dish was biscotti! That can't be, because I've never made biscotti for anyone in the place 'cept Little Leila!"

Ursula's eyes jumped open and her mouth dropped. Naesala's eyes did the same, but his lips creased into a frown. The judge's brow raised only a little, and, at once, the rest of the gallery began crowding the air of the courtroom with whispers.

"That's right," Robin said, recalling aloud, "Dozla testified that Leila asked him to make her biscotti a few weeks after she started visiting the café regularly, and that he didn't make it for anyone but her. That's two very particular mistakes from our witness…"

Ursula shouted, "Your Honor, please have that man held in contempt! His statement changes nothing about the facts of this case. The witness misremembered his favorite dish? What _possible_ significance could that have to a _murder_?!"

"That old coot is talking nonsense," Naesala added, "I've definitely eaten biscotti there before. Maybe his addlepated old mind just isn't registering it, but it happened."

"Even if it meant something, the defense cannot prove that the witness never ate biscotti in the café, so may we _please_ move along?" Ursula asked, tapping her foot.

The judge rapped his gavel on his desk. "I am afraid that I concur with the prosecution. Mr. Spokony's remarks offer this court very little in terms of evidence, and so, for disrupting this trial, he will be held in contempt until its conclusion. Bailiff, please escort the witness out of my court."

As the bailiff obeyed, Dozla looked about the room frenziedly, then suddenly glowered with contempt at Naesala, perhaps realizing the same thing Robin had been trying to establish. His scowl sagged into a pathetic sadness as he took one long look at the defense bench before being dragged off.

_He's getting it now, too. Thank you, Mr. Spokony. With your help, I'm sure I can make something happen here. I won't waste this opportunity._

"Robin," Fado addressed his protégé, "I think it might be prudent, at this point, to reexamine an aspect of our investigation that we've been ignoring."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Profiling a criminal requires three things. What are they?"

"Motive, means, and opportunity, sir."

"Good lad. Now, if the thunderstorm and the 'blackout' provided the opportunity, and disguising himself as Forde and sprinkling some poison into the victim's drink was the means for our criminal, what are we left with?"

"Motive. Why did he do it?

"Exactly. We spoke about this with Pelleas, but we never really reached a satisfactory conclusion. Well, we've got our suspect. What are your thoughts now?"

"I… I don't know. As far as anyone knows, Naesala was a total stranger to Leila. She was carrying those documents, but for someone to know about that, they would have needed to be privy to the fact that she was a spy."

"Mm-hm." Fado nodded. "So, you don't think Naesala had any personal motive to kill her?"

"If he did, I can't think of one."

"And what does that tell you?"

"Huh? It tells me nothing."

"Wrong. Think harder. Let your imagination flow a little. Why would a total stranger dress in a waiter's outfit to poison a girl under cover of dark? It's not exactly a crime of passion."

"No, it's pretty elaborate. Careful. Almost… rehearsed. Wait. No—you think…?"

"Poison is always an intriguing weapon of choice," said the older attorney, raising his eyebrows.

"So, the answer is… Naesala didn't have any motive at all—someone else did!"

"Thatta boy."

"Someone else gave Naesala orders to do this! Someone who knew about the documents! But, if that's the case, then… Naesala kept insisting that he wasn't happy to be in court, and I think he was telling the truth. It took a long time to prepare him for the trial, almost like he wasn't expecting to end up here, even though he was the killer. That must mean that somewhere along the way, we happened on a mistake that he made."

"Like I said, 'there's no such thing as the perfect crime.'"

"But what could it be? What wasn't Naesala expecting?"

"Perhaps it's more relevant to ask, 'what _was_ he expecting?'"

"Right. Something he expected to happen, but didn't quite go as planned. Oh, I know! He was planning to knock Forde out in the employee lounge, but he didn't know that Forde was already going to be ill and passing out, which prompted Dozla to check on him. That forced him to replace the body quickly and get rid of his disguise, which caused him to get stuck in the café when the exits were blocked!"

Fado wore a long smile. "I think you may have the right of it, my boy."

"So, the question is, can we find any evidence from that mistake? Anything that points right to Naesala?"

Fado shook his head. "I don't think so. Too much of this trial has relied on a lack of exact knowledge of people and places. You have managed to prove this much, however: only three people were in the back of the café at the time the lights went out: Dozla, Forde, and now Naesala."

"Ah, I get it! So, if I can prove that the murder was committed by someone in the back that wasn't Dozla or Forde, then the only reasonable conclusion is that it was Naesala!"

"Process of elimination is a real dastard when it wants to be."

"But how can I possibly do that?"

"I think now is a good time to roll up your sleeves and dig back through the evidence, lad. You're almost there."

"Fado, do you know?"

"You have to be able to do some things on your own, lad. The chips are down right now, so what will you do? Will you be resolute and scour the court record on your hands and knees until you find something, or will you let it slip from your fingers?"

_Gods, no pressure. Still, he's right. I'd have gotten nowhere in this trial without Fado's help. Now it's time to prove that I can do what I need to when it counts! Not to mention, for all he was saying, I think Fado was still trying to give me a hint just then… Get ready, Pelleas, your liberation is at hand!_

"Now that we're finished with those unpleasant proceedings, I'd like to suggest we move on to the verdict," said Ursula, eyes shut and arms tightly folded around herself.

"Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge offered.

"As a matter of fact, yes," answered the rookie attorney.

Ursula only scoffed.

"Very well," the judge said, massaging his drooping eyes, "what will it be this time, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"I'd like to review a few facts first." There were several groans from the gallery. "My client, Pelleas Apoleus, is accused of poisoning the victim, Leila Viscount, with liquid cyanide, which she drank, presumably after it was introduced to her coffee. We now know, however, that in the time that provided the window of opportunity the prosecution uses to make that allegation, Naesala Scaltro was moving around the back of the café. We also know that at that exact time, Dozla Spokony was still cooking in the kitchen, and Forde Willow had passed out in the employee lounge."

"Is this going somewhere?" asked Ursula, treating it as an imposition.

Robin nodded. "Two key elements led the police and the prosecution to believe my client was guilty of poisoning Ms. Viscount: there was a bottle of cyanide in his front pocket, and there were traces of cyanide on his cuff."

"Two facts which are indisputable evidence, Mr. LeBlanc," said Ursula, "What do you hope to gain by restating them?"

"I had a question back near the beginning of this trial, and it had been plaguing me until this point. Now I finally understand. If you take a look at the traces of cyanide found on Mr. Apoleus's sleeve, you'll notice that there is a strange flat line at the end of the area where the reactive fluid colors the garment. Why would that be?"

Ursula rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter. Nothing you say will change the fact that cyanide was present on the defendant's sleeve."

"I'm glad you agree," Robin said with a smile, "but there can only be one reason for such a clear and unnatural shape to the trace of cyanide: something else must have also gotten stained with the same traces, shielding the area of the defendant's sleeve below like a shadow blocking out the sun."

"W-What?" Ursula clenched her teeth.

"Think about it: that Pelleas should spill cyanide on his own sleeve, covering his dominant hand, makes no sense, especially with that sharp line, but if someone else's arm had been over his, dropping the poison from above, well, then that mark would not only be totally possible, we could even match up the other garment onto which the poison had been spilled!"

Naesala shifted his posture at the stand.

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "How do you mean to prove this? I don't suppose you have the garment in question?"

Robin smirked.

"Urgh, enough, damn you! What are you getting at?"

"There's a piece of evidence that's been discussed in this trial quite a bit, but until now, no one has realized its real significance. To do that, we have to think back to what Detective Volke Mordel told us at the beginning of the trial about the cyanide on Pelleas's clothing: if left unattended, it could have bled right through the clothes and absorbed into his skin, killing him as well. Anyone using the cyanide would have known that, and so, if they had spilled cyanide onto themselves, they would have protected against it seeping through their clothes. How? Well, the good detective said it would be as easy as turning the garment inside-out."

"Where are you going with this?" Ursula demanded, "For you to suggest that there is some evidence that I, Ursula Verra, have not thoroughly examined… you will suffer greatly for your arrogance!"

Robin folded his arms. "I guess you weren't as comprehensive as you thought. The garment onto which the cyanide was spilled was none other than Forde Willow's uniform!"

"W-What?!"

"The court was led to believe that Forde threw it off in a heatstroke-induced daze, which is why it was found inside-out, but the truth is more sinister: after taking the uniform so that he could move throughout the café undetected, the killer accidentally spilled cyanide onto its sleeve and Pelleas's. Knowing what would happen if he didn't act quickly, the killer moved quickly back to the lounge and threw the uniform off, and then replaced Forde's unconscious body when he realized someone was coming to look for him!"

"Preposterous!" Ursula shouted, slamming her fist on her desk.

Robin leaned on his own desk and shouted in reply, "Oh, yeah? If it's so preposterous, then let's have the uniform tested for traces of cyanide, just like Pelleas's shirt! If that uniform tests positive for cyanide, then it's proof positive that not only could someone in the back of the café have killed Leila Viscount, they _must have_. And, what's more, two of the three people who were in the back of the café have strict alibis showing that they couldn't possibly have been moving around at the time: Dozla was still cooking, and it would have been impossible for him to wear Forde's uniform at his size, and Forde himself had fainted due to heatstroke by that time, unless the prosecution wishes to rescind that claim."

"W-What? N-No… That can't be. That would mean… then there could only…"

"Glad you finally see the truth, Ms. Verra." Robin pointed to the witness stand, "The truth is, there could only have been one person who wore the uniform, and who therefore killed Leila Viscount. That person is our witness, Naesala Scaltro!"

The court resounded with startled shouts and chatter. Ursula grit her teeth and began babbling something in a language no one could have understood, but that they wouldn't have wanted to if they could.

The judge pounded his gavel on his desk and demanded order. "These are grave charges indeed. Mr. Scaltro, have you anything to say in your defense?"

Robin looked at the witness. The young attorney had been smiling, feeling his brain and his muscles brim with the energy of his impassioned attack, but now, looking at the culprit he had uncovered, who was only giving him a disconcerted frown, Robin lost his smile.

The blue-haired man in the dark ensemble let out a long sigh. "Are you done?"

"What—"

"Good. Stop talking. You're out of your depth, kid. Acting so high and mighty at your age… you've got a lot to learn, and it looks like I have to be the one to teach you." The culprit sighed again. "My employer's not gonna be happy with this, but sometimes things just don't go as planned. That should be a lesson for you, too, kid."

"Mr. Scaltro," said the judge, "just now, you said 'your employer…' are you admitting that someone hired you to…?"

"Shut up, you buffoon!" Naesala barked, "I'm talking to the lawyer right now. What do you want, kid?" The black-clad man clapped his hands slowly. "Is this what you want? Applause? Recognition? A big ol' thumbs-up from mummy and daddy?"

"You—"

"No, stay quiet and listen, you idiot! What do you think you've done? You think you _got_ me? You're gonna call the bailiff in here to fit me for a pair of cuffs and have me thrown away? Because you argued it real good? Is that how you think the world works? Is that your plan?"

Robin didn't bother trying to say anything this time. He felt paralyzed by the criminal's tone.

"Well, like I said, sometimes think don't go according to plan. But I'm gonna teach you something valuable today, kid: professionals have plans. Experts, on the other hand, have contingencies."

Before anyone could ask what the raving man was suggesting, he reached into the front of his coat and whipped out a pistol. Robin saw the metal gleam under the fluorescent lights as it came forward. In a moment, Robin realized the barrel of the weapon was pointed squarely at him.

"I'm gonna show you exactly how powerless you really are." Naesala stared hard at the attorney, his index finger sliding along the pistol's trigger.

"Bailiff!" the judge shouted.

Naesala shifted his arm to the side and fired a round, plugging the approaching bailiff in the face. In almost the same motion, taking less than a second, he aimed over the young attorney's shoulder again and fired another round. This one struck Pelleas in the face, and he toppled to the ground. Robin's eyes grew wide and he felt his whole body go cold as he watched his client sink to the floor with a bleeding hole in his head.

Naesala began taking a step toward the defense bench.

"Robin," Fado said in a low tone alien even to his protégé, "I want you to run as fast as you can, right now."

Robin wanted desperately to follow that advice, but his feet felt glued to the floor, and he found himself looking helplessly back and forth between his murdered client and his murderer. When the assassin got close, Fado charged around the desk, preparing to shoulder-tackle the assailant, but he, too, was toppled by a well-placed shot that struck him in the shoulder. Naesala reached the defense bench, grabbed Robin by the collar, and dragged him out from behind the bench with him. He pressed the barrel of the gun to Robin's temple, and all Robin could feel was the cold impression it made on his flesh. He saw Pelleas's body one last time as he was being dragged away, and then he seemed to go blind. He might have gone deaf, too, because Naesala seemed to be saying something—more mockery, perhaps—but Robin couldn't hear a word of it. His face was expressionless and transfixed.

All at once, Robin regained his hearing and his sight as he was thrown forward. They were near the lobby's entrance. Robin heard a car engine humming behind him. As he fell and hit his head on the marble floor, he heard the engine rumble as the car sped off, and the sounds of police sirens screeching after it. Then he lost consciousness.

[April 17th, 9:18 pm, Hope's Heart Hospital]

Robin woke up, his vision fading in from white. He looked around and let his eyes adjust to the dark of the room. A figure on his left side seemed to shift, realizing his eyes were moving.

"I think he's awake," the figure said. Robin eventually recognized it as Anna's voice.

"You all right, son?" said another, approaching the bed the attorney was laying on. This one he knew straight away to be Fado. "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you," he said, his voice dry and cracking in his throat.

"Thank gods. That was… quite the scene, kid. You… shouldn't have had to see something like that in your first trial. In any trial. What you saw is the end-product of a legal system in need of change. I'm just glad it didn't end your career before it started."

"Pelleas," Robin murmured, his memory returning, "what happened…?"

Fado frowned at the floor. "The doctors tried their best, but… kid was dead before he hit the ground."

"I was… useless," Robin said, "I could have done something… you told me to run, but I didn't, and—"

"That's enough, lad. Don't go blaming yourself for what some ruthless murderer did. You did absolutely everything you were supposed to do, and there's nothing more you were expected to do, you understand?"

"He shot you too, Fado. I'm really useless… I wasn't even hurt, and here you are, up before me. I can't…"

"Robin." His tone was low and firm. "I know you're in a delicate place right now, so I don't want to yell, but I'm telling you right now that none of this reflects on you. Naesala Scaltro is a scoundrel and a murderer, and you are absolutely not to blame for his behavior."

Robin blinked. He looked up at the ceiling. Slowly, he felt the room getting colder. The air was still as no one spoke.

"Fado," said the young attorney. His mentor raised his eyebrows, inviting him to go on. "I… I don't think I'm ready to handle litigating in court. Not yet."

Fado's expression shifted back to grave. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I understand. I respect your wishes, Robin. We'll wait a few months to give you a new trial, or until you feel ready, all right?"

"Thank you."

"Sure. Now, get some rest, eh, son? You need to get your strength back."

"Okay." He turned his head on the pillow. It wasn't comfortable.

"I'll call you first thing tomorrow morning, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

He heard Fado trying to whisper. His mentor didn't realize that he was still audible at that volume. "All right, I have to get back, or the missus will kill me. They didn't report any significant injuries, just some minor trauma from hitting the floor. Any damage, they said, is probably going to be more psychological."

"Poor kid," he heard Anna say, her voice also not quite low enough, "Damn. His first real day on the job. What the hell… I can't even imagine."

"It's horrible. But I think he'll make it through. I helped him once already. He has a lot of potential. More than you might think."

"All I'm thinking is what an ass I've been to the kid."

"Don't you go beating yourself up, too. You've always been a bit suspicious of new hires, and not without good reason, but this is a good chance to remember why cutting people slack is important, too."

"I feel terrible."

"We all do. Him most especially, I think."

"You said you were gonna call in the morning?"

"Definitely. Thinking plans through?"

"Yeah. Don't let me keep you."

"All right. Good night, Anna."

"G'night, sir."

The door to the hospital room closed. A machine near Robin's head buzzed in a low tone. The vent in the corner of the room near the window began spewing cold air into the already frigid room. Robin's eyes wouldn't close.

"Hey, uh… You still awake?"

Robin looked up at Anna. "Uh-huh," he grunted.

"Listen… I know I've been a little standoffish. Fado's had partners try to steal from the company before, or ruin his reputation by sabotaging him. That's a consequence of being a world-renowned defense attorney, and that's why I have to be careful."

Robin didn't say anything.

"But I was too hard on you, and I was wrong. So… I'm sorry. You're a full member of our team from now on, and I'll treat you like I'd treat any of Fado's associates."

"It's good that you're so protective of him. I wish I could have been likewise."

"Hey, listen—"

"Fado's more than my mentor. He saved me from… a bad spot in my life. I became an attorney because of him."

"He _does_ have that effect on people."

"Is that why you work for him?"

"Kinda. His family and mine worked close together way back when. I've known him since I was pretty young."

Robin didn't say anything. His eyes felt heavy.

"Do… do you want me to stay?"

"Huh?"

"Would you feel more comfortable if I stayed here with you overnight?"

Robin thought about it. He pictured the cold, dark room being empty save for him, lying in the uncomfortable bed. "Yes."

"Okay." She stretched out and reclined in the chair she was sitting in. She let out a quick yawn and said, "I'll stay right here, then."

Robin rolled over on the bed, yanking a blanket over his shoulder.

[*]

[The present… October 28th, 7:02 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

"…And that's about all there is to tell," Robin finished, "I ended up going back to work for Fado, of course, but it was never really the same after that. For a while after that happened, I would have moments where I felt overwhelmed, and then it would snowball until I had that same feeling, like I was being held at gunpoint all over again, and the stress would make me faint. That's what happened in your trial."

"Gods," Morgan said, staring blankly at her employer's desk, "I'm so sorry, Boss. That's horrible."

"It happened. It's over now."

"But you can't let that be the end of it! You can't just bottle it up and act like nothing's wrong!"

"Morgan, I'm fine. I had some trouble before, but it's under control now. I'll get by, like I always have."

Morgan pouted, and then set about thinking. "I can't believe I thought you wouldn't understand my situation. First the whole convicted murderer thing, now this. You've… had a kinda rough life, huh, Boss?"

"Not that much rougher than others," he answered, smiling.

Morgan wasn't. She frowned. "If you say so, Boss."

"Anyway," Robin went on, rising from his desk and shaking out his legs, "it's getting late. We should have closed the office down an hour ago."

The pair walked out of Robin's office and into the main room, only to see Anna scurrying over to her desk to grab her things.

"Anna," Robin called out to her, "You're still here?"

"Oh, yeah!" she chirped back, "Musta lost track of time, ha ha! I'll just grab my stuff, and…"

"…Anna, were you listening in?"

"…No."

"Anna."

"Maybe just a little. And by 'a little,' I mean 'all of it.'"

Robin sighed. "I suppose it's nothing you didn't already know."

"Actually, there was a lot about that case Fado never told me. He basically put a moratorium on mentioning it as soon as you came back to work."

"Can't say I'm not glad."

"Robin… do you feel okay? It wasn't too upsetting to go back through that, was it?"

"No, I'm all right. Actually, it was kind of cathartic. I've been hiding from it for so long, I'm glad to have read through it again, having a little critical distance."

"Well, good. As long as you're not freaking out."

He waited in silence a few seconds. "You can head out, if you like. I think Morgan and I are just going to order pizza and hoagies tonight."

She thought and gave him a little smile. "Which place?"

"Abello's. The one with the 'Panther Po' Boy.'"

Anna giggled. "I like that one. Why don't you get me something, too? We'll make it a little office party."

"Are you sure? I don't wanna keep you away from home."

"This place basically _is_ my home by now. Besides, I'm never really doing anything by myself…"

"What's that?"

"N-Nothing! I… uh, I said I'll go grab the menu from the shelf."

"All right, go on. Morgan, you go with Anna and figure out what you want, okay?"

"You got it, Boss! Whatever it is, I want it loaded with banana peppers!"

The smaller redhead darted after the taller one into the corner of the main room that held the office phone. Robin walked over to the trash can and, looking to each side, reached down into it to pull out the crumpled file. In bold black ink that had been smudged over time, the file read "NAESALA SCALTRO." Robin walked into his office with it, threw it on the desk, and walked back out. A prison name and designation number was listed at the bottom of the page.

_So I finished reliving my past with Morgan. She's a good listener, so I'm sure she soaked it all in. I wasn't lying when I spoke to Anna, either—I really did feel relieved after reading through the whole case again, as strange as that may seem. To see it in such abstraction, it made it feel real again in a safe way. For a while, I was almost fighting myself to believe it had been some kind of nightmare I had made up, but now I can face it again. It was good that I got over it when I did, because things were falling into place. I started to look into Naesala Scaltro's records again, thinking I might find something else to help me get over the past. Little did I know, what I was about to find was going to give me something much bigger to explore…_

[Turnabout Collapse ~ End]


	17. Turnabout in the Tower: Investigation Day 1

[November 4th, 11:14 am, Draug Schild Maximum-Security Prison]

Robin LeBlanc did all he could to swallow his dread on entering the prison for the first time. The architecture of the massive, black-walled building, meant to impose upon inmates, didn't bother him much at all, nor did the somewhat scornful looks the guards gave him as he walked down the dark halls in his suit. No, the only thing capable of unsettling him was still waiting at the end of the hallway. As if to emphasize the growing tension, an overhead light would switch on with a thunderous snap every time he and the guard accompanying him walked a few feet, and the previous one would switch off with the same boisterous noise.

He looked down at the folder in his hands. There was information about Naesala from cradle to capture in it—as much as he could find at any rate. He'd looked at it so many times, the words had become ingrained into his brain: "Height: five feet, eleven inches. Weight: 154 pounds. Tattoo of tower on right forearm. Seven counts of petty theft. Three counts of misdemeanor assault. One count of aggravated assault. Two counts of murder in the first degree. Sentence: life without possibility of parole. No living relatives." The short sentences kept repeating themselves in his mind, echoing over and over.

Eventually, they reached their objective. Looking about ten pounds lighter and some twenty years older, the tall, dark figure of Naesala Scaltro was slanted into an offensive posture behind the bars of his cell. The guard broke off and stood near the corner where the wall met the bars. Robin took a few steps closer to the cell.

"So, like the show, kid?" said Naesala Scaltro, the darkened silhouette of his face standing out against the light above him.

"I came to ask you some questions," said Robin. He made an effort not to look anywhere except straight ahead.

"Well, of course. Anything for an old pal." Naesala gave him a wide grin.

"If I read the police report right, it's been about three years since your arrest."

"Three years? Five months? Ten days? Six hours? It's all the same in here, kid. What difference does it make? As soon as I landed in here, my life and conception of time were over."

"You were sold out, weren't you? One of your associates took you into a safehouse, but when he saw on the news how serious the police were about bringing you down, he made a deal to turn you in if he could avoid charges for aiding and abetting."

"And if I ever see him again, I'll tear his heart out and eat it right in front of him. Really, though, I think that's neither here nor there. I assume there's a reason for you being here, aside from reading my whole history back to me."

"I want to know your employer's name," Robin said, looking up from his records.

"You and everybody else. For my part, though, even if it's in prison, I like being alive a lot better than being dead."

"If you tell us who he is, we could protect you from him."

"Listen, you're just a kid, so I'll forgive you for being a little stupid, but you oughta know the police have already promised me the same things. The reality of it is that you definitely can't protect me or anyone else from that guy. I mean, look at who he hired! You think the guy that hired me is the kinda guy to take people out _himself_?"

"You may have a point," Robin conceded. He flipped over a page in the packet he'd compiled before coming to the prison. "What do you know about Lyon Mulroy?"

"Not much. Name sounds familiar, I guess. Not telling you anything else even if I do know him."

"So you've heard of him, at least. Well, that much is worthwhile. He was another assassin. He killed Harken Gaetz and tried to blame Tharja Anderra, a Plegian. Until I caught him in a lie on the stand, that is."

Naesala scoffed. "Ah, that kid always was too soft. I'm not surprised he got taken in so easily. So dumb, and so much to prove. Dangerous combination."

"So, that's two assassinations of political figures from Ylisse and Plegia, both within just a few years, both assassins hired by mysterious employers that they refuse to name. That's interesting, don't you think?"

"Oh, sure. Swell deduction. Say, did you ever think maybe people from Ylisse and Plegia don't like each other?"

"As charming as your sarcasm is, you're still stuck behind those bars. Anything you can say to me pales in comparison to the fact that I'm free and you're not. And soon, the same will be true of whoever hired you."

"I'm quaking," Naesala said, stepping back, "Although, when you think about it, you wouldn't even be here if I had decided to, well…" Naesala made his index finger, middle finger, and thumb form the shape of a gun, placed them against his temple, and made a "click" sound.

"Enjoy your life here, Naesala," said Robin. He turned around and began leaving the hallway. The guard followed behind him. Naesala walked back into a corner of his cell and prepared to sit down as the lights went out around him.

The guard escorted Robin back to the prison's front office. He handed Robin a registration list with several other signatures on it. "Sign here. It's to keep track of visitation for each inmate."

Robin did as he was told. He glanced at the remaining names on the paper and saw one he had expected to see: Fado Verlaine. He knew Fado had investigated the case after it ended, but Fado had never spoken about it since that day, so he never knew how that investigation. Another name stuck out to him: Leah T. Burgh. The date indicated the person had visited only about a week before Robin. "Who's this one?" Robin asked, pointing to the curious name.

The guard glanced at it. "Leah Terex Burgh," he answered, "She was an investigative journalist doing some kind of report on violence in Ylisse-Plegia relations. She had a valid press pass, so she was the real deal. Can't remember what paper she worked for, though."

Robin nodded silently, his theory confirmed. "Leah Terex Burgh" must have been an alias that Heather Luxberg used in her work. He thanked the guard and gathered his things to leave the prison.

Once he was outside, straining his eyes against the sunlight, Robin dialed Fado's number. He looked at the number on the screen for a moment and sighed. When he was ready, he pressed the button to call and waited in anguish as the line slowly rang. After several rings, the sound stopped. "Hello," Fado's voice came through, "you've reached Fado Verlaine. I'm tied up at the moment, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Robin waited for the beep, and then began his message. "Fado, I spoke to Naesala today. I'm sure you've heard I've been doing a lot of work these last few months. And I know you're investigating him, too. I want to help you figure this out, so, when you get a chance, let's talk, all right? Thanks." Robin ended the call and put his phone away. It felt like the sun was trying to hold his eyes shut as he got back into his car.

[November 4th, 3:20 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin marched straight through the door and placed his briefcase on Fado's old desk. He took his suit jacket off and hung it carefully, placing the hanger back on the rack in his office. He walked back out to the main room and found it suspiciously empty. As he walked over to Anna's desk, he saw a yellow sticky note jumping out at him, and he grabbed it and held it in front of his face.

"Robin:

Looked at the fridge this morning and decided you and Morgan can't live like this. Went to buy groceries with her. Back in a while.

Anna"

Robin rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. "Now," he said to himself, "the only thing scarier than talking to convicted assassins…" He tentatively reached for one of the many papers lining the coffee table, as if the red ink would burn him. He placed it in front of him and tried not to look at it before giving up and deciding to confront it. Surely it wouldn't be so bad, right? At any rate, it was only going to get worse the longer he held off.

Hours passed in silence as Robin scribbled away at the various bills and invoices. The stack of papers took forever to shrink even a little, and Robin quickly became discouraged, but he decided to carry on, since he had nothing better to do at the moment. After about three hours had passed doing nothing but paperwork, Robin decided to give his eyes and wrist a break. He stood up and pondered what could be taking Anna and Morgan so long. He faced the window and saw that darker clouds had started to blanket out the harsh sunlight from earlier in the day. He walked over and opened up the window, letting the cool air from outside cut into his face and inhaled deeply. A perfect day for… answering a hundred debtors. The young attorney deflated a little and sat back down to resume his task.

Yet more hours passed and, eventually, Robin's eyes refused to cooperate with his determined spirit. He fought to keep them open, but the lids rebelliously shut themselves every several seconds until he eventually gave in and slumped onto the armrest of the couch. The fabric was cushy and inviting.

Robin remained in a kind of twilight sleep in that position for a while. Quite how long, he had no idea, his brain had simply switched itself off. The cool air from outside made his own body heat all that much more scarce and desirable, so he curled into himself as he saw nothing but black. Eventually, however, black was replaced by blue. Blue light beat on the outside of his eyelids as he felt his hand vibrating. Just seconds after sight and touch had returned to him, hearing did, too, and he heard his ringtone beckoning him to open his eyes. He did so and saw Fado's number staring back at him from the phone. He tried rather unsuccessfully to shake himself awake and answered the call groggily. "Fado…?" he murmured.

"Hello, this is Officer Beck Encol of the Ereb Police Department. I'm calling you as part of a required duty on the behalf of Mr. Fado Verlaine—"

"Is he there?" Robin asked.

"What?"

"Fado… is he busy? What's going on?"

"Sir, Mr. Fado Verlaine is dead. He was found shot roughly an hour ago. Currently, we're investigating leads by calling the most recent contacts on his phone. Are you Robin LeBlanc?"

Robin had stopped paying attention after the word "dead." He stared ahead blankly as he held the phone to his ear.

"Sir?"

"Sorry… what?"

"I understand this may be difficult for you," said Officer Encol, "but I just need you to answer a few simple questions for me, and then I'll leave you in peace. Now, are you Robin LeBlanc?"

"Yes."

"How did you know Mr. Verlaine?"

"I was his student, and his employee… at the Verlaine & Co. Law Offices… um, until he turned it over to me, that is."

"When was that?"

"Months ago. Back in… ah, June."

"And where are you at the moment, sir?"

"In the office… uh, his old office. In Ylisse."

"I see. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. LeBlanc. I'll let you take some time to yourself now."

"Pardon me, officer?"

"Hm?"

"Could you tell me where he was found? I need to… that is, I'm sure his family is going to be there, and I want to be able to speak to them."

"Certainly, sir. Mr. Verlaine was found in the Blazing Stones Cantina." The officer proceeded to list the building's street address. "That's in the city of Ereb, by the way," he added.

"Ereb? The Plegian capital? Why was…" Robin didn't finish his sentence. Obviously the police officer wouldn't be able to tell him. It was something he'd have to figure out on his own.

Robin hung up the call after signing off, and then realized that he had a missed call. His throat tightened when he realized it was from Fado. He had left a voicemail, too. With trembling fingers, Robin swiped the notification and saw that the message was almost fifteen minutes long. He played it and held the phone to his ear.

It was hard to glean anything much from what he heard: there was a sharp noise in the first minute, and then a great clamor in the third minute of the message. Footsteps and bodies, moving and colliding, all ran together in an indistinct blur of noise, combined with the voices of several people Robin could not clearly distinguish between. At one point, the noise slowed, and he heard one of the voices more clearly: "Goodbye, LeBlanc." Robin's heart fell into his stomach. The voice had been strange, somehow. It possessed neither the quaking fear of a man anticipating death nor the resolve he expected of his mentor. He listened as the message got progressively more silent—the sound of steps moving away, and then another shout. More confusion and cacophony rounded out the ninth minute of the message, and then, for the last five, absolute silence. Robin shuddered. His mentor had made a desperate cry for help, and Robin had slept through it. When it was clear he was about to die, he said his farewell. He had to support his head with his hands, as it suddenly became tremendously heavy.

Robin heard the door click and watched Anna and Morgan step in, toting several plastic bags. He stood up and faced both of them without saying a word.

"Hi!" Anna sung, "Got my message, I hope."

"What's up, Boss?" Morgan saluted. Her face was obscured by a pile of bags she was trying to carry that was clearly too big for her.

Robin slipped his phone limply back into his pocket. "Don't put those bags down," he said, his voice dry, "We're making an emergency trip."

Anna and Morgan glanced at one another. Anna scrutinized Robin's face carefully and saw the shadow hanging over his eyes. She wasn't exactly certain what he was thinking, but it was clear as day that he wasn't joking. She nudged Morgan and jerked her head in the direction of the door. The three of them proceeded out of the building and to the parking lot, Robin locking up the office as they left.

The drive to Ereb wasn't unfathomably long—it was a few solid hours of driving, but Robin had made the trip a few times before. On those prior occasions, he'd been full of joy and hope—of starting his new career, of getting to see old friends—but this wasn't one of those occasions. Here, he sat in lukewarm silence, watching the peach streetlights that covered the highway rise up, glow over him, and disappear, not unlike the overhead lights in the prison. Also like the prison, the three of them were all headed into a vast maw of black that they couldn't quite see from their current position.

Robin informed his employees of the situation as they drove. Once they understood what was going on, both of them chose to stay silent, as he did. An exhausted Morgan gradually drifted to sleep. Anna either kept her eyes straight down in front of her, or distantly out the window. Not a word passed from anyone after Robin had finished his explanation.

When the GPS in Robin's car showed that they were half an hour away from the cantina, Robin spotted a sign for an open motel, and pulled into the lot. He asked Anna to carry Morgan in as he made his way to the front desk to make their accommodations.

They barely managed to get to sleep sometime after midnight.

[November 5th, 7:18 am, Blazing Stones Cantina]

Robin had woken up at the crack of dawn, having barely slept at all the previous evening. He gathered his employees and headed straight for the scene of the crime, and, when he arrived there, he found a familiar face waiting for him.

Eirika Verlaine stood outside the inauspicious brown building, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. As Robin's group got closer, she smiled at them. "Oh! Hello, Robin! Good to see you again. Anna, you too. And Morgie, dear!"

"Hi, mom," Morgan said flatly.

Robin was confused by her sudden enthusiasm. "Um, hello Eirika. Is everything… I mean, are you all right?"

"Y-Yes," she assured him, "just fine. I mean, well… not _fine_ , but not to say… Ahem… uh, how have your studies been going, Morgan? Have you been helping Mr. LeBlanc a lot?"

"As much as I can," she answered. She appeared to be every bit as confused about Eirika's behavior as Robin was.

Anna, however, seemed to understand. "Robin, why don't I take Morgan inside for a minute? You and Eirika can have a word alone."

Eirika gave a halfhearted smile.

Robin nodded. "Good idea."

As the door swung closed, Eirika's smile faded entirely. She lurched forward and pressed herself into Robin's shoulder, heaving a few times. Surprised, he let her do as she wanted and patted her shoulders a few times for good measure.

Realizing what she had done, she backed off. "Sorry, that was… Gods, forgive me, I'm all out of sorts."

"It's no trouble. Anything would be understandable given the position you're in. Eirika… I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry…"

"What can you be sorry for? I always entertained the possibility, but I never seriously thought that… my own father… like _this_ …!" She sobbed again, and became unintelligible.

Robin felt he had quite a lot to be sorry for, but he kept it to himself. "I hope you have someone you can stay with," he said, "it's not right for you to be dealing with this alone. If nothing else, I booked a room—"

"That's okay," she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief again, "Ephraim's here with me. I told you about my brother, right?"

"The prosecutor?"

"The same. Yes, he drove me here last night. He went in and confirmed the… the body's identity after the police called us. I still haven't quite worked up the courage to go inside. Ephraim even said he wouldn't let me the first night. I was already crying when we got there…"

"Maybe that's for the best, then," Robin concluded, thankful for how apparently conscientious Ephraim was. "Is Ephraim in there right now?"

"Yes. He's been talking to the police all night and day. I'm sure he means to take up the case."

"I wonder if they'll let him… Ylisse-Plegia jurisdiction is a tricky matter these days." Robin shook his head, dismissing the question. "I think I'll step inside, too. Maybe I can help him build his case."

"Would you? Anything you can do would be wonderful."

"Of course. I want to find out who's responsible as much as you two do."

"Thank you." Eirika's eyes dropped to the ground in front of her. "I… think I'll just stay out here, if it's all the same to you."

"That's fine." Robin nodded at her and walked inside. He found that Anna and Morgan were waiting patiently just past the doors, and he waved them over so that they could walk together into a back room of the dimly lit cantina.

The walls of the room were the color of sandstone, and there wasn't a window to be found inside. Along the ceiling, dark, sagging wooden beams intersected to help hold up the walls. There was a small gap between the beams and the roof above them. The floor matched the walls, but was a darker shade of brownish-yellow, covered by heaps of dirt and sand dragged in from the outside streets. A single table, fashioned from black walnut wood, was all that sat in the middle of the room. That, and a corpse, of course. Fado Verlaine's head was slumped over onto the table, his eyes shut and his mouth dripping blood. Playing cards were scattered all over the table, most of which had been covered in the ruby stream originating from Robin's former mentor. Fado's hand contained an ace, a queen, a jack, and a ten. A solid hand, no doubt. Fado tightly held one other such card in his fist, which hung beside him near the floor. Beside that hand, Robin spied the cell phone that had issued Fado's final message. He felt a chill and looked away from it.

In the far corner of the room, a young man with turquoise hair and a well-built cop were marching toward them. "Hey! Back up! This is a crime scene!" shouted the police officer.

"Hold on, I think I know this one," said the young man beside him. The youth was finely dressed in a navy suit, accented by a powerful red tie. He wore black gloves on his hands, probably to avoid contaminating the evidence. "You are?" He glared at Robin accusatorily.

"Robin LeBlanc. Fado's former partner," Robin answered, "I assume you're—"

"Ephraim Verlaine," he finished for him, "yes. I figured you'd show up here. The investigative team tells me my father put in a call to you just before it happened, but you never picked up."

"I was… asleep," Robin admitted, "I never imagined this would happen. I hadn't even heard from Fado in months…"

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Ephraim's glare didn't let up. "He was dying. If he had put in a call to someone useful, he might still be alive!"

"We were hours away," Anna interjected, cropping up over Robin's shoulder, "nothing we could've done would have stopped what happened. There's no need to rake Robin over the coals any more. He already feels terrible about all of this."

"He can speak for himself if he's got something to say." Ephraim sneered at her.

"I cared for him too, Ephraim. There's nothing I wouldn't do to change what happened, and I'd give anything to have been awake when he called, but…" Robin balled his fists, almost equally upset by his own uselessness.

"You got a funny way of showing concern. If there weren't cops around, I'd give you a piece of my mind."

"Altogether, I don't blame you."

"Well, you shouldn't! Bastard…" Ephraim turned around, shutting his eyes. "Detective! I'm taking a walk. These three can look around, but cuff 'em if they screw around!"

"Sure thing."

Ephraim left the room along with the cop who'd been beside him, and, in his place, Colm Fletcher appeared. "You're not my boss," he grumbled.

"Detective Fletcher?" Robin started.

"Wha—oh, you are _shittin'_ me," said the detective as he turned to face the voice.

"The feeling's mutual."

"Kid, you really gotta stop followin' me around. It ain't healthy."

"Trust me, I'd rather be anywhere than here right now."

Colm stared at him. "I get the sense you're implyin' something."

"Fado," said Anna, "That is, the deceased is Robin's mentor. _Was_ Robin's mentor."

The detective took a long pause. "Shit." He stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips. "That's right. Well, then you know the guy that just took off was…"

"His son. Yeah, we're aware," said Robin.

"Explains why he was so pissed off. When I saw the name 'Robin LeBlanc' on that phone, I figured it had to be a coincidence… You really—"

"Sore subject, detective," Anna cut him off, frowning deeply, "The point is, Robin's here to help."

Colm looked over at Anna and saw Morgan standing beside her. "You're the one from that case with the kid who killed the other one, right?"

Morgan nodded.

"And you…" He looked Anna up and down. He whispered, "What're you doin' with a guy like _him_?"

Anna sighed disgustedly.

"Do you mind if we take a look around, then, detective?" Robin asked.

"Sure, whatever. Just don't disturb anything. I've got enough headaches today, don't give me another or I'll make life nice and unpleasant for you."

Robin shook his head and took stock of the room once more. "Has there been an autopsy yet, detective?"

"Sure has. I've been doling out spare copies all day. Here." He presented Robin with a small folder, which the attorney accepted gratefully. "The long and short of it is this: he was shot twice and died of blood loss. At the rate he would've been losing blood, it probably took less than ten minutes for him to bleed out completely. Wasn't like he'd be walking around the room, though. Coroner seems to think he probably just passed out from the shock, and I ain't inclined to disagree."

"Blood loss, huh? So… that call… could it really have been?"

"Can't rule it out. It fits into the estimated time of death."

Robin cursed under his breath and approached his mentor. The blood that had spilled onto the table was primarily leaking from his mouth, but another trickle came from a spot near his head. Robin averted his gaze from his mentor's forehead. "You said he took a shot to the head, but he didn't die right away?"

"Sorta. The headshot was the finishing blow—he had been bleeding from his other wound for some time before that. It might not've been lethal, if he hadn't already got that first shot in 'im. See, the first one punctured his lung—just grazed it, but did some damage. The headshot dug into his brain and caused a hemorrhage."

"He was drowning in his own blood," Robin assessed. Morgan turned away, and Anna put her hand on the girl's back.

"That's… not inaccurate." Detective Fletcher rolled the cigarette around in his mouth.

Robin looked to the floor. Along with his mentor's blood, he rediscovered his clenched fist, and the card inside. He bent down and looked at it carefully, seeing on it a strange bearded figure reposed upon a throne. He held a staff in one hand and an orb in another. "A king," Robin concluded, "Fado always had a thing for symbolism. I can't help but wonder if he meant something by this."

"Two dying messages in one night," Morgan murmured, "If that's true, Mr. Verlaine must've been pretty clever. He was covering all his bases, huh?"

"Seems like it," said Robin, "I just wish I knew what it was supposed to mean."

"A king…" Anna mused, "Well, we can see the rest of his hand, but I don't see any clues there, either. Hm… a king beats everything but an ace… if aces are high… wait, what game were they even playing?"

"No clue," Robin answered, "Somehow, though, I doubt the answer's that simple." Robin turned his attention to a handgun resting on the table, inches away from Fado's head. "Although, speaking of simple, can I deduce this to be the murder weapon?"

"Yep. Rifling marks fit the bill. Most likely, his opponent in this game was concealing that bad boy the whole time, and when he got the notion, he stood up and planted those shots in 'im."

"Why do you think he stood up?"

"Look at the angle on the headshot." Robin did so. The wound stuck out of the top of Fado's forehead, near his hairline. It was tilted so that it was not quite parallel with the angle of his forehead, however. "Only way it could get like that is if someone hit him from a slightly elevated position."

"I see. So, you said his opponent in the game must've done it… does that mean you have a suspect?"

"Yep. He's at the detention center now. I can give you the address."

"Please and thank you."

Detective Fletcher tore a sheet off a notepad and handed it to Robin. The address of the detention center was hastily scribbled on it in blue ink.

"Let me know if you come up with anything important," said the detective.

"We will," Robin answered.

With few other leads and their desire to remain in the building waning, Robin, Anna, and Morgan piled back into Robin's car and made the drive down to find the suspect.

[November 5th, 10:47 am, Ereb Detention Center]

The detention center itself was surprisingly calm. Despite the fact that what might be considered an international incident had just occurred, there was little motion in the building, save for a few suited officers walking back and forth between holding cells. A receptionist looked at Robin with glazed eyes as he entered.

Robin decided to approach first. "Hello. My name is Robin LeBlanc. I'm assisting with the case of the death of Mr. Fado Verlaine."

The receptionist blinked.

"I'm told the police's suspect is being held here."

The receptionist exhaled sharply and wiped his nose.

Robin fished into his pocket and retrieved Detective Fletcher's note. It was written on stationary that contained his signature. Robin waved it in front of the receptionist, who seized it with a sneer. He looked it over, ruminated, and then passed it back to Robin wordlessly. He pointed to his right and muttered "Desombres."

"Thanks," said Robin, not sounding particularly grateful. The trio marched down the row of cells, each with a temporary nameplate adorning them. Robin found the one labeled "Desombres" and stopped at it.

Inside, a man sat on a bench, head bent over his knees. He was fairly tall, he had hair that was something of a faded turquoise color, and he was wrapped in elaborate white garments with a purple cape clasped at his neckline. His jaw was sharply trapezoidal, his cheeks were thin and gaunt, and his eyes were small and narrow, as if collapsed by the rigidity of his face. To put it simply, he looked almost ridiculous, stuck in that room, in that posture, with that face. So ridiculous that Robin might have laughed, if the notion that he might be staring at his mentor's killer weren't burning in the back of his mind like the forgotten candle that starts a house fire.

"Mr. Desombres?" Robin supposed.

He lifted his head. His pupils were cold and dark. If he hadn't moved, Robin might have just as easily assumed he was dead. For a moment, Robin wished he had been. "You're not a policeman," Mr. Desombres replied.

"That's right. I'm an attorney, hoping to help with the investigation."

"What's there to help? You've got me right where you want me. Finally…"

"What do you mean?"

The man smiled. "You don't need to play coy." His expression shifted immediately back to neutral. "Or do you really not know? I'm fated to die by ignorance, hm? Fitting, in a way."

"Boss, do _you_ understand what this guy's saying?" Morgan asked, looking up at her employer.

"Not at all. Mr. Desombres, I think you're assuming I'm someone that I definitely am not."

"Maybe so, lad. Well then, let's erase all doubt, shall we? Who are you?"

"As I said, I'm a lawyer—"

"I don't care what you _do_. Your name, man, your _name_."

"My name is Robin LeBlanc."

The man's eyes blinked wide open. "By the gods. Then you were Fado's student."

"That's right."

Mr. Desombres reclined on his bench and pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling grandly. "Well, you were right, I certainly had you pegged wrong. You're here to help with the investigation, huh?"

"That was the idea."

"In that case, let's circle back to my original point: the evidence already points to me, according to the police, so what more are you hoping for?"

"Anything else. It's been my experience that the police's interpretation of the evidence isn't always the best one. Maybe there's something more about the night of the murder you'd care to tell me?"

"Not really."

"Come again?"

The man smiled his strange smile again. "Don't concern yourself with me now. I'm fated to die regardless. That death should come this way is… a bit of a relief, truly. At least I can feel true comfort for a short while before I pass into the next world."

"Could you tell me what you're talking about, exactly?" Robin insisted.

"I'm telling you to go with the police's story. The truth is already set. Let me die, and this will all be over soon enough."

"But why are you saying it like that? It seems to me you know more than you're letting on."

"And I'm glad you're smart enough to realize that." He leaned forward and glared at Robin, "Now, understand this: it's not worth looking into. Fado's gone, and so am I. Let it end that way, and everything will be finished."

"I can't accept that." Robin frowned. "Not if you're going to tell me to my face that you're hiding things. What are you hiding? _Why_ are you hiding things? What's all this about craving death?"

"Fado and I have walked parallel, if distinct, paths. That they should terminate near the same point is only natural—"

"All right, listen!" Robin slammed his fist against the wall near the cell. Morgan jumped, and Anna took a step back from him. "This crap that you're pulling? The vagaries about 'our path' and your 'fate?' Knock it off! That man—the man who died—he was my mentor! More than that, he was…" Robin trailed off, his teeth grit and his fist clenched and white-hot, filled with boiling blood. Tears broke out from his eyes. "He was a father to me. He saved me from a life that was going nowhere. And I couldn't do the same for him… So I'm done with you taking the piss! You can answer me clearly, or you can go to hell! Did you kill him?!"

The man looked at Robin carefully, frowning. He seemed to regard the attorney's eyes with special interest. Quickly, his face changed, as if he'd just been shown something. "No," he said.

Robin's chest was rising and falling rapidly. "What?"

"No. I didn't kill him. But I don't think you can ever convince a jury of that."

"And why not?"

"I'm aware of the scope of the evidence against me. Listen, Robin, you're a smart fellow, of that I'm sure. You must have known Fado was active in both his domestic and international law communities. There are certain people who'd want him out of the picture, and me as well."

"Who are they?"

"They're people who'll kill you, too, if you try to pursue this case." The man's face suddenly became sharper. "That's not what Fado would want. You're too smart to throw your life away doing something so stupid."

"If that's what he felt, he could've told me so in his message," Robin said, fingers drifting to the phone in his pocket.

Once more, Mr. Desombres's expression shifted. For the first time, his eyes grew wide. "Message…?"

"He called me right around the police's estimated time of death. I was asleep, so I missed it, but he left a voicemail. He… all he said was goodbye. I don't understand why he didn't say anything more. A name, an observation… anything might have changed the circumstances, but…"

The man across from Robin let out a little laugh. Robin glared at him, balling his fists again. "That bastard always knew how to keep things interesting," the man said to no one in particular. "Well then, what will you do?"

"What?"

"You've presented me with something unexpected. My opinion has changed… slightly. What will you do? Place your hand above the board and take your piece, Robin."

Robin dropped his arms to his sides. He took a deep breath and lifted his head a bit higher as he looked at the man across from him. "What's your first name, Mr. Desombres?"

"Renault," he answered, "I am Renault Desombres. Why do you ask that, of all things?"

"I'll need to know it in order to represent you properly."

Renault Desombres reclined on his bench and smiled a little. He closed his eyes, and, by the time he'd opened them, the smile faded. "You've chosen a dangerous path, Robin. Not a wrong one, but a dangerous one. See that you don't end up in the same state as your mentor."

"Will you cooperate at trial?"

"I will do what I must."

"I think we're done here." Robin took a few steps back from the cell before waving to Anna and Morgan. They followed him obediently.

As they piled back into the car, Morgan piped up: "So… you're really gonna defend that guy, Boss? He didn't exactly strike me as a trustworthy sort…"

"Me neither. He was full of it, top to bottom," Robin agreed, "but… After everything he said, I'm sure he wasn't really responsible. He wasn't telling me the whole truth—he was guarding some kind of a secret. I just don't know what it was, or why he was hiding it. It coincides quite a bit with all my investigations thus far, though… things I've been noticing as we've had our trials… Something stinks in Plegia. Ylisse too."

"You saying you're intentionally getting us embroiled in an international conspiracy?" Anna interjected.

"I might be. Why?"

The redhead shook her head. "I'll have to clear my calendar, that's all. Fado would… er, you know what? Never mind. What's our next step, then?"

"We revisit the crime scene. This time, as official investigators for the defense."

[November 5th, 12:02 pm, Blazing Stones Cantina]

When Robin returned, he was immediately confronted by Ephraim, who had apparently returned from his walk not long ago. Ephraim studied his father's disciple with eyes hot as molten metal. "I hear you made a little visit to the detention center," he said.

"I did. I spoke to your suspect."

"And what did you find out?"

"I found out who's going to be defending him in this case."

Ephraim folded his arms. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"You're looking at him."

Ephraim paused. His hands tensed and gripped at his suit. "Is this a riddle? A joke? I'm not really in the mood for either. If you've got something to say, say it plainly."

"I'm going to defend Renault Desombres," Robin told him.

"Son of a bitch." Was Ephraim's only reply. He reared back as if he was about to throw a punch, but the police presence calmed him down. "What did he do to you? He gave you a place to live, a place to work, all of his attention… and now, not only did you let him die, but you're going to _defend_ the human filth that killed him? Have you lost your gods-damned mind? Or… are you _in on it_?!"

"I'm not in on anything," Robin answered, "I want to find out the truth as much as you. That's why I'm not letting Renault be convicted. Because he's not the culprit."

"You…" Ephraim's posture was steady, but his voice seethed. "You disgust me beyond words. Any respect I had for you as a partner to my father is dead now. I'm leaving this scene before I get an ulcer. But let me tell you this, Robin LeBlanc: if you're going to stand at the defense bench in that trial… you're going to find one merciless opponent on the other side. One who won't be afraid to destroy you and everything you've ever done to make sure the truth comes to light."

"Good. I'll need someone smart to keep me thinking on my feet."

"Smarmy little prick…!" Ephraim snarled. He grunted, turned around, and walked away without another word.

The room fell silent as Ephraim left. Robin saw Eirika rush up to him as he walked out. What would she think?

"This is a cantina, right?" said Morgan, "Think they've got any knives handy?"

"Knives?" Anna cocked an eyebrow. "What for?"

"To cut through all this tension!"

Robin lowered his head and smiled. Anna did the same. After everything they'd been through, a moment to laugh at themselves felt like the most hedonistic reprieve.

When they settled down, Robin returned to the room where the crime had taken place. He saw Detective Fletcher by the door. "Can't stay away, huh?" asked the detective.

"Definitely not now," Robin replied, "I'm going to be standing in as the defense."

Colm Fletcher opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and shook his head. "Somehow, as soon as you walked in here, I knew you were gonna do that. Whatever. Your funeral."

"You don't mind if I look around some more, then?"

"Go nuts. Ephraim's gone and pissed off, so I'm gonna see what they keep in the bar around here…" The detective walked slowly down the hall.

Robin looked around and sighed. "I was hoping glancing at all this with fresh eyes would give me some new ideas, but I'm not seeing any case-changing evidence right now."

"Eek!"

Robin turned abruptly. Morgan was recoiling from something, and ended up falling onto the floor on her back, arms and legs upraised like an overturned turtle. "Careful, Morgan!" her employer chided, "We can't disturb this scene."

"Sorry," she squeaked, righting herself.

"What startled you so much, anyway?"

"I was looking around on the floor, and I spotted a huge bug!" She grimaced.

Robin took a few steps toward her and bent down. He found a small brown chunk sitting on the dirt floor. Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed it.

"Don't!" Morgan shouted, "What if it's some kinda horrible scorpion? Or a beetle that can slice your fingers off! Or a wasp larva that burrows into its host's skin and—"

"It's wood, Morgan."

"—so you have to dig it out with tweezers because it's sucking the nutrients out of—come again?"

"It's not a bug," Robin reiterated, holding the chunk in front of her, "it's just a dark piece of wood."

"Oh." Morgan's face quickly turned a deep red. "Well… out of the corner of my eye, it _looked_ like a really scary bug."

Robin replaced the chunk on the floor. Unfortunately, insect or not, it wasn't about to win their case for them.

Anna had her eyes closed, nodding slowly in the corner. Robin got up to speak to her. "You look confident about something."

"Ah," she started, her concentration broken, "yeah, I was just thinking… this place gives off a homey kind of vibe, but, actually… The wood used to make that table is super expensive. I think it's used in the support beams and the rest of the foundation here, too. The trees it comes from only grow in arid regions."

"Makes sense. We are in Ereb, after all. You'd have to be doing pretty well to keep a business open here."

"It's also a low-durability wood. It's better for aesthetics than actual use. Kinda like how gold is a really soft metal."

Robin cracked a smile. "When did you become an arborist?"

"Oh, I don't care so much about that, I just like knowing what things are worth."

"Yeah? How much do you think that info's worth for our case?"

"I'd appraise it somewhere between 'diddly' and 'squat.' That's just an estimate, though."

"I had a feeling."

"Kind of appropriate, though, isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"A place that hides fancy stuff under an ordinary look? Pristine things that are easy to break? You were talking about symbolism before… if what that Renault guy told us is true, well… Fado would be foaming at the mouth with how metaphorical it all is."

Robin laughed. "He just might have."

As they finished, another presence entered the room, and immediately caught all the eyes within it. A slender man with a long fuchsia ponytail entered. He had on a green vest and pants appropriate for a service uniform, and a mustard-colored scarf around his shoulders that gave him a distinctly "foreign" vibe. He seemed just as surprised to see Robin and company as they were to him. "Hey! Scram! This is a crime scene now, ya little cockroaches! I just had to chase that detective away from my bar, I don't need no more parasites today!"

" _Your_ bar? Do you own this place?" Robin asked.

"What's it to ya?"

"A lot, actually. We're with the defense for this case. You can ask the detective, if you'd like…"

"The one trying to drink my top-shelf arak? No thanks. Just tell me how long you lot are gonna be stinkin' up the place."

"Not much longer, at this rate," Robin admitted, "but could I ask you about the crime?"

"If ya want."

 _A cooperative witness? First one of those in a while_ , Robin thought. "All right, let's start with your name."

"Shinon Tisamo."

"Thanks. Since this cantina is yours, I have to imagine you saw something, right, Mr. Tisamo?"

"Sure did."

"Great. Can you tell us what?"

"I saw the guy the police ended up arresting. Remy, or… what's-his-name. He was standing over the victim, gun in hand, when I came in."

"What made you enter the room?"

"Heard a gunshot. Or, I assume it was a gunshot. Some kinda fuss going on in there, at any rate."

"Did you see Fado—er, the victim and the suspect go in at the same time?"

"Yep. I was the one who rented the place to him."

"Rented it?"

"Yeah-huh. That's one of the services my place offers. Lotsa old guys around here like to play cards somewhere quiet, so we let 'em have a room to themselves. 'Course, it's not limited to cards—anyone can do whatever they want in there, they just gotta pay a little deposit."

"I see. So… do you close the doors when people use these rooms?"

"Mm-hm, and lock 'em. So yeah, that's how I know the guy I grabbed was the right one."

"That does make sense… wait, 'the guy _you_ grabbed?'"

"Sure. Someone had to hold 'im until the police came."

"All right. And you didn't see anyone else go in that room?"

"Nope. And, as I said, I lock the doors when people use the rooms, so the only way in or out is with a key. There are only two copies of any given key: one I give to the renter, and the other I keep."

"So only you or the holder of that key could've let someone else in, hm?"

"Yeah, but _I_ didn't, so don't go makin' stupid accusations, yeah?"

"Sure thing. Thank you, Mr. Tisamo, you've been very helpful."

"I close at seven most nights," he said, turning back out the door, "Get outta here by then, or I'm locking the place up with you inside. And don't go multiplyin' while my back's turned."

"Real teddy bear, that one," said Anna.

"At least he told us something useful. That's more than I can say for plenty of other people," Robin replied.

"Now if we could just get someone who knew something about the actual crime," added Morgan.

"If only," Robin agreed.

Suddenly, they heard a shout from the other room: "I was sodding _kidding_!" After a few seconds, they heard footsteps approach their room, and Robin was greeted with a familiar face.

"Tharja?" he started.

"You _are_ here!" she cheered, "Oh, I knew it!"

"Yes," Robin continued, still stunned, "I am. But what are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, right. I heard about the murder on the news. They hadn't released the name yet, but I saw Fado's face and recognized it from that picture you sent me all those years ago. Still have it saved in my phone."

"And so you… came out to the crime scene?"

"Yep. Because I knew I'd find you here."

"I see… and what did you plan to do once you found me here?"

"Uh… help, I guess. In any way I can. You're… my friend, Robin. I know how much Fado meant to you, so if I can help you sort this mess out, I want to."

"Well, I appreciate you efforts, but I don't know that there's much left you can do, Tharja. We've already combed the place for evidence, and there's not much to speak of."

"Oh, really?" She frowned. "There's gotta be something I can do…"

"Tharja, you seem like a nice girl," said Anna, "we're thankful, really, but I don't think this is the place for you, around all this murder stuff."

"I didn't either, but that didn't stop me getting arrested," she answered, "I only got out of that situation because of Robin. That's why I _have_ to help you all somehow."

Robin shrugged. "Let's let her take a look around," he told Anna, "We can't be any worse off for it."

"Fate has a way of seizing on remarks like that," she replied.

"I don't believe in fate."

Tharja performed a brisk lap around the room, poking her nose at things with almost as much enthusiasm as Morgan, but on nearly every occasion, she would examine the thing closely, crinkle her nose, and then wither back down dejectedly before moving on. This continued for a few minutes until she glanced at the table where Fado's body lay. "What's with this?" she said aloud. She reached for the card in Fado's hand.

"Don't contaminate the scene by touching things," Robin warned her.

"Oops." She lowered her hand. "Still… look at this, won't you?"

Robin came over. "It's strange, no doubt. I don't know what to make of it, though. I wondered if Fado was trying to send a message, but what can I glean from a 'king' card?"

"King?" Tharja scoffed, "That's not a king. That's an emperor."

"Do the semantics really matter?"

"No, I don't just mean the title, I mean, that's an emperor. Like, _The Emperor_."

"You lost me."

"Do you know about tarot cards?"

"Those things that hacks use to tell people's fortunes?"

Tharja glared at him. "Sure, _people_ use them to tell fortunes all the time. Some people in this room, even. But more than that, they're used in some Plegian games, too. What better tool for a game of chance than cards that can spell out your fate, right?"

"So, what you're saying is…?"

Tharja stood up, walked to the side of the room across from the table, and picked up a deck. She rifled through it and handed it to Robin: "Here. This is a tarot card. A Plegian-inspired card. Not a Ylissean one."

"O…kay…" Robin put the deck back. "Where does that get us?"

Tharja frowned. "I dunno. It's the only thing I could find. Something about that Emperor card is definitely weird, though."

"Weird? How so?"

"Look at it again." Robin did so. "See that sphere he's holding?" Robin did. "Look at the little line drawn through it, kind of like a crack. It looks like he's almost crushing it, right?"

"I suppose so."

"That's not how it's supposed to be. The emperor is supposed to hold an orb and a scepter as a sign of his dominion over the world. Showing the orb broken is… weird."

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… that's, er, interesting. Thanks, Tharja."

Tharja pouted. The room was silent.

"I think this is it," Robin finally declared. "What say we get back to the hotel? I've got a trial to prepare for, and I think we could all use some rest."

"I'm game. I'm exhausted and it's not even that late yet," said Anna.

"I guess… I just wish we could find more," Morgan added, "I want to do everything we can for grampa."

"I'm with you, Morgan," Robin answered her, "but sometimes the best thing we can do is know when to change course. It won't do us any good to wait around here and wear ourselves out combing the room another dozen times. We'd be better off preparing for the trial so we can get more time to investigate the evidence."

That seemed to satisfy her: "All right. Can we get food, too?"

"Sure."

"I know a great place, actually," Tharja interjected. Realizing what she had done, she muttered, "Uh, if you want, that is."

"Why not?" Robin shrugged. "Come on."

The group left the cantina and piled into Robin's car, and Robin listened to Tharja's directions as he pulled away from the building.

[November 5th, 11:48 pm, Roncontra Hotel]

Robin sat up, staring at the wall across from him. He couldn't sleep. Of course he couldn't. Who could, given the circumstances? Well, Morgan could. She was on a pull-out bed across from him, a blanket draped over her. She breathed softly as she slept, and Robin dared not wake her. She was probably more worn out than any of them.

As he thought, Robin saw Anna drift over. She planted herself in a loveseat across from Robin's sofa. "No use, huh?" she whispered.

"I try not to let stress mount up, but… it's clearly got my number this time."

"I hear you." She sat in silence for a moment. She changed her posture to speak a few times before actually getting the words out: "Robin, there's something you need to hear, too."

"Hm?"

"It's not your fault."

"Anna—"

"It's not. No one could've known. Fado did something careless. He could've talked to either of us, but he didn't. That was a mistake on his part, not yours."

"But, if I'd been awake—"

"He'd still have been three hours away. Robin, listen to me, I know you have a bad history with this sort of thing. I know you don't want to let people down, but you have to realize that some things are just out of your control. And you have to focus on what you still can do."

Robin looked down in the darkness.

"Well? Gimme something."

"You're right. You're always right. It's just not that easy to change my mind."

"I know. That's why I'm around."

Robin paused again. "Yeah. Thank goodness for that."

He could see Anna blink slowly in the darkness. "That didn't sound sarcastic. What, no ironic comment on that?"

"No," he answered, "Not this time. Because you're right. If it weren't for you, I'd definitely be worse off. Particularly from that night after my first trial."

"The less said about that day, the better."

"Not so. Since we talked it through, I'm feeling even better about it now. I feel like I know what I have to do with myself. I always knew I wanted to practice law because of Fado, but outside of 'helping people in need,' I never really had a defined idea of how I could use my position as a lawyer to contribute to the world. It took you and Fado to remind me what I needed to do: to give people an advocate. Someone on their side when things look their bleakest. Someone who knows—or, at least, seems to know—what to do when everything is at its greatest uncertainty."

"I see how you gleaned that from Fado, but… really, what did I have to do with it?"

"You were there when I needed it. And you still are. You have a kind of reassuring quality about you, Anna."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, because the room fell silent. Robin took that as his cue to not say any more, and so he changed the subject: "Fado raised a hell of a son."

Anna laughed. "Naga, that guy… He's dealing with something, too, no doubt."

"The thing about his father being dead?"

"That might have something to do with it, yeah. Probably more to it than just that, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"Observation. Life experience. It's, like, a law that kids have conflicts with their parents, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

They let the conversation end. The air conditioning in the room kicked on with a loud thud. Robin was momentarily worried that it would wake Morgan, but she went on breathing peacefully.

"Glad we had this little talk," said Robin.

"Oh, don't be so glib. I was trying to be nice."

"If you were nice, you'd let me sleep on the bed."

"You gave that to me! If you wanted to sleep on it, all you had to do was—"

"I'm kidding."

"—ask. Jerk."

"Is the offer still open?"

"As a matter of fact, it's just been withdrawn."

"Damn. Next time."

"In your dreams."

"Good night, Anna."

"Night, Boss."

Robin turned over on the sofa and tried to shut his eyes. They stung as he strained to close the lids around them. The air conditioning hummed loudly.

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Investigation Day 1 – End]


	18. Turnabout in the Tower: Trial Day 1

[November 6th, 7:48 am, Ereb District Court – Defense Lobby]

Robin didn't bother sitting down. He was filled with too much nervous energy to even consider resting with the trial so near. He had gotten up earlier than ever before to ensure he arrived at the courthouse on time. That is, he hadn't really so much gotten up early as never really fell asleep. He had his eyes closed for periods of up to two hours at a time, but rest never really came to him.

One wouldn't know by looking at him, however. He paced the room in small circles, analyzing his notes with the energy of a man who'd just returned from his lunch break. Morgan watched him go around, surprised to see someone even more animated than her for once. Anna made no bones about resting. Her eyes were half-open as she sipped coffee on the sofa. She had a fashion magazine that she was pretending to look at in her other hand.

The time came, and the defendant entered the lobby. Robin heard the bailiff's keys jingle as he brought his client forward. "Mr. Desombres," Robin greeted him dispassionately.

"Robin," he acknowledged, "Good. I half-expected you to have fled the country after yesterday."

"You really thought I'd be that scared?"

"I've learned not to overestimate people. It was a small possibility, but a possibility nonetheless."

"I don't suppose you're any more willing to be forthcoming with information now than you were before."

"Certainly not. Not under these circumstances."

"Didn't think so. That's all right. I'll find whatever truth I have to for myself, with or without your cooperation."

Renault smiled. "I have a feeling you will. Ah, the ardor of youth."

The bailiff frowned at Renault over his shoulder. Robin shrugged and dismissed them both. The bailiff pushed Renault into the double doors leading to the courtroom.

"So unhelpful," Morgan groaned, "doesn't he know how bad he's making this for himself?"

"Don't talk about Kettle like that, Pot," said Robin.

"Huh?"

"Remember when you tried to take me off your defense?"

"Oh, yeah… well… that was a mistake."

"Mm-hm. But even though you made a mistake, I still helped you. We're going to do the same for Mr. Desombres, so he has a chance to realize the mistake he's making. Maybe then we can get more out of him."

"Oh!" Morgan's face brightened into a smile. "I didn't think of it like that! Good idea, Boss!"

Anna walked up to them, coffee still steaming in her hand. "You about ready to get in there? They're going to be calling any second, I'm sure."

"Plenty. Will you be sitting in the gallery?"

"The gallery? Hell no. I'll be up front with you two."

"With us? Erm, I think it's only supposed to be attorneys at the bench…"

"You can have co-counsel."

"But you're not a counselor."

"Neither is the teenager beside you, but that didn't bother you last time."

"At least she's had a little legal education."

"You think _I_ haven't? You know how many cases I had to research for Fado? Whatever number you're thinking, double it, and then tack a zero on the end."

Robin closed his eyes and shrugged. "There's no stopping you, is there?"

"Just realizing that now?"

The bailiff reemerged. "The trial is about to begin," he proclaimed, "Defense, please enter the courtroom at once."

Robin obliged, Morgan and Anna at his sides.

[November 6th, 8:14 am, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

The sound of a gavel rang out, and the court fell silent. At the front of the court, behind a massive caramel-brown bench with purple and red jeweled accoutrements, their stood a man not entirely unlike judges Robin had seen before, but still distinctly not the district judge he had grown used to. For one, the man seemed a bit younger: his beard was not much more than a goatee, and it was mostly black, although white whiskers gathered at his chin. His face was also squarer, more angular, than the judge Robin had known. He looked more jagged as a whole.

"Order!" the judge commanded, "Silence, please. We have in our hands a very unique case today. I assume both attorneys have read over the briefing concerning the terms for today's trial."

Robin nodded. He looked across from him and saw, who else? Ephraim. The prosecutor nodded as well, and then glared sharply at Robin.

"For the benefit of the court today, allow me to explain a simplified version of our concerns: this case involves the murder of a Ylissean citizen suspected to have been carried out by a defendant who is a citizen of Plegia. The murder occurred on Plegian soil. Matters of criminal natures, such as homicide, are always within the original jurisdiction of federal courts, such as ours, but the existence of a Ylissean victim complicates the issue. Per agreements signed by both the prosecution and defense, today's trial will invoke the Ylissean legal system, and will involve legal panelists from Ylisse to ensure fair procedure of the trial. With that said, both prosecution and defense will also be attorneys who are licensed to practice in Ylisse. The Plegian federal government will be keeping an eye on our proceedings to avoid potential mistrials, in order to ensure that this matter is resolved swiftly and effectively. When deliberations are finished, we will call for the jury to proclaim a unanimous verdict upon the defendant. If the jurors have any questions, they may direct them to the additional legal officials present for the trial after today's deliberations."

The court sat and listened in respectful silence as the judge finished. He cleared his throat and donned a pair of glasses, which he used to read the record before him. "With that advisement out of the way, I would like to begin. Are both counsels prepared?"

"The prosecution stands ready, Your Honor," said Ephraim.

"The defense is ready," Robin concurred.

"Very well. The trial of Renault Desombres is now in session." The judge sounded off with his gavel. "Prosecutor Ephraim Verlaine, please give the court your opening statement."

"Certainly, Your Honor," Ephraim answered. "On November 1st, Fado Verlaine arranged via telephone to meet with his friend and associate, Renault Desombres, in Plegia. Mr. Verlaine was a practicing attorney and published author of legal critiques, especially of Ylisse's Substitute Culpability Clause. Mr. Desombres was also a legal scholar and a professor emeritus at the esteemed Lopto University School of Law. They arranged, as they had on numerous previous occasions, to meet at an eatery in Ereb to discuss their lives and the subjects of their research. The two went on to meet one another, as planned, at the Blazing Stones Cantina on November 4th, sometime around 4 pm. By 5:30, Fado Verlaine was dead. When Fado and Renault entered the cantina, they rented a private room, usually enjoyed by patrons for the purposes of playing games in silence. They obtained a key to the room, which was promptly closed off and locked for the entire period from the beginning to the end of their meetup. At approximately 5:15 pm, Shinon Tisamo, the owner of the cantina, and the only owner of another set of keys that could be used to enter the room heard a commotion from within the room. Fearing the worst, he entered and discovered Renault Desombres next to the body of Fado Verlaine, a pistol in his hands. Fado had been shot twice, once in the lung, and once in the heart. Shinon kept Renault in place until the police arrived."

Ephraim cleared his throat and put his notes aside. "As you will hear from both the detective leading the investigation and the only witness to the crime, Mr. Verlaine and Mr. Desombres were the only ones in the room at the time the crime occurred, meaning that there is no logical conclusion other than that Mr. Desombres is responsible for the murder. There is absolutely no room in the evidence for doubt, and so the prosecution would like to recommend that the jury enter a verdict of 'Guilty' for Mr. Desombres."

Robin stood still as he watched the performance. Morgan looked up at him, but she could quickly tell he wasn't in the mood to discuss anything. Besides, the tone of Ephraim's voice and the manner of his elocution made things perfectly clear: they were fighting an uphill battle.

The judge scrutinized one of his files. "Prosecutor Verlaine, it has not escaped my attention that you bear the same name as our victim. Are the two of you related?"

"Indeed," answered Ephraim, "Fado Verlaine is my father."

"And yet you are standing as the prosecutor for his murder. Is this common practice in Ylisse?"

"No, sir, but I made a special request with the chief prosecutor's office in Ylisstol. They authorized me to represent the state in this case despite the potential concerns."

The judge glanced at one of the Ylissean legal experts in the room, who nodded.

"Very well. Now, because we are operating under special circumstances today, there may come points where you must clearly explain your reasoning in order to continue the proceedings to avoid the possibility of mistrials. Are you and the defense prepared to undergo that level of additional scrutiny?"

"I have the wherewithal to prove the defendant's guilt under any legal system, Your Honor."

"And I'm prepared to do anything I must to prevent that," Robin joined in.

"All right, I have no further inquiries. Prosecutor Verlaine, you may begin by calling your first witness."

"Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution calls Detective Colm Fletcher."

With little fanfare, Colm assumed his position at the witness stand. He looked between the two counselors and, for a moment, almost seemed to grin.

"Name and occupation for the record, detective."

Colm Fletcher levelled his eyes with the gallery. "Colm Fletcher, lead detective on the homicide investigation."

"Detective, will you tell us about your investigation and what you've concluded from it?"

"Sure thing. All right, here's how this one shakes down: like you heard in the prosecutor's opening statement, the victim and defendant both entered the Blazing Stones Cantina together around 4 pm. They obtained a key from the cantina's owner, and used it to enter and lock off a room so that they could play a game of cards in private. The owner also had a second set of keys for that room and the other private rooms. That means that only the victim, the defendant, or the owner could have entered or been in that room at the time the murder occurred.

"The victim and defendant had their game. At around 5:15, however, the defendant stood up from his seat and shot the victim with a handgun. Hearing the commotion, the cantina's owner rushed over to the room and opened the door. There, he found the defendant, gun in hand, beside the victim's lifeless body. The owner has testified that no more than five minutes elapsed between the sound and his entry. He restrained the defendant and kept him in place until the police arrived.

"The victim was shot twice, once in the chest, striking his lung, and once in the head. As you can imagine, the headshot was the fatal blow, although the chest shot would have rendered him nearly incapacitated, and would certainly have killed him in a few more minutes. Because the room was locked and has no windows or other means of egress, it was impossible for anyone else to have been in the room at the time of the crime, and the defendant was discovered holding a pistol that matched the rifling marks that were present in the victim's wounds. For those reasons, we conclude that only the defendant was capable of committing the murder."

Robin frowned. Even Detective Fletcher seemed to have a little less vigor to him during today's trial. It was certainly fair to say that the atmosphere just felt wrong. Robin realized part of that might owe to the fact that Ephraim seemed to continually be laying the evil eye upon him.

"Thank you for your testimony, detective," Ephraim said, "that will be all."

"If the prosecution has no further questions," the judge continued, "we'll hand it over to the defense for their cross-examination. Are you ready, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Then do proceed."

"Thank you." Robin paused before beginning his cross-examination. The detective had clearly learned from his previous trials, and was being a lot more careful to keep his statements factually sound so that Robin couldn't call him on interpretations. He had become a significantly harder nut to crack by suddenly deciding to be so straight-laced.

"It seems like Detective Fletcher is really confident about this one," said Morgan.

"Yeah. I'm not surprised, he's probably staking a big part of his career on it."

"Really makes it a hassle for you, doesn't it?" Morgan smiled.

Robin didn't. _Would it kill you to be on my side for once, kid?_

"Detective Fletcher, I'd like to ask you about the two shots fired, if I may," said Robin.

"Go for it. What'd you wanna know?"

"Well, you said that Mr. Verlaine would have died from the shot in his lung if he hadn't been shot in the head, right? And that he was mostly incapacitated by that shot? So, my question is, why did the killer shoot twice?"

"I can't tell you for sure, 'cause I don't live in the guy's head, but I can give you two pretty plausible explanations: one, the guy didn't realize the first shot woulda been fatal on its own, so he shot again. They call it a double-tap. Standard practice in the police when subduing targets: shoot twice in roughly the same spot to make sure the target goes down and stays down."

"But it wasn't quite the same spot—"

"And that feeds into my other theory: second, could be that the first shot was a misfire. He might've been aiming for the victim's head, but the victim moved at the last minute, or his hand got shaky, and he missed, so he had to put the second shot in his head."

"At any rate," said Ephraim, "the fact of the matter is that the victim was shot twice. For what reason both of those shots occurred is irrelevant to the question of guilt, absent further evidence."

"R-Right. So, detective, you seem pretty sure that Mr. Verlaine was shot by someone in the room. You also specifically told the court that you think Renault stood up to shoot him. Why do you think that?"

"It's pretty simple: the bullet wounds in the victim's body are at a considerable angle. That angle could only be achieved if you fired on him from an elevated position. Since the two were playing a card game at the time, the logical explanation is that the defendant got up from his seated position to take the shot. That'd give him just about enough height to be consistent with that angle."

"But isn't it possible that the victim was shot from somewhere else?"

The detective shrugged and smirked. "If you wanna do some trigonometry, I'm sure you can figure out how far back someone could've shot him at. And while you're doing that, you might do well to remember that the room had no windows. So, to answer your question, no, it really isn't."

"Thank you for your thoughtful consideration, detective," said Ephraim, pleased, "I really hate having to do the thinking for other people. You're making yourself very easy to work with."

"Shucks," Colm said, scratching the back of his neck, "It's nothin'."

_Did he actually manage to win over Detective Fletcher a little? Uh-oh. Ephraim's no joke._

"Did you find any fingerprints on the pistol that you deemed to be the murder weapon, detective?"

"Nope. My guess is the perp wiped 'em off before being arrested."

"Why would he waste time doing that? According to your version of events, Renault was found with the gun in hand minutes after firing it. If he was the killer, why would he have bothered to try to obscure evidence like that?"

"It might be he wasn't expecting the owner to come rushing in. That, or he just wasn't thinking clearly. A lot of people lack grace under pressure."

"Still, that seems strange, don't you think? If we assume Renault was the killer, this whole ploy seems like a surefire way to get caught, doesn't it? He locked himself in the room with the victim—there wouldn't be anyone to suspect but him. If he were trying to avoid suspicion, he did everything he shouldn't have done, wouldn't you say?"

"I can't disagree, but our job isn't to prove whether or not the accused is smart, just what it's likely they did based on the evidence. And in this case, everything points to Renault Desombres shooting Fado Verlaine."

"All right, fine, but what about the weapon itself? How do we know it was Renault who used it without any fingerprints?"

"Who else coulda—"

"Just stop," Ephraim commanded.

Robin looked up.

"I know what you're trying to do. Clawing away at every bit of testimony in hopes that you'll find something new to latch onto. It's exactly the sort of thing my father would try to do. Except, of course, you're not him. You're pathetic."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's clear as day you haven't got so much as a thought in your head. You're not providing a defense, you're just pulling at threads until you can disrobe the witness before the court, and you'll do that as soon as you can, whatever it costs. Anything to paint someone else in a bad light. You're not a lawyer, you're a tabloid journalist at best."

"Order!" The judge hammered his gavel. "The prosecution will refrain from making personal attacks against the defense."

"He's not the defense. He's not a lawyer. He's a scared little boy playing dress-up, trying to imitate the one who taught him everything, and doing a very poor job of it. He runs away from danger and lets others take the fall for him, and he takes the side of murderers. He's the epitome of a scumbag lawyer."

The judge hammered even harder over Ephraim's words. "Prosecutor Verlaine, that is _enough_. This is a court of law, and you will act with the decorum appropriate to such a setting, or you will be held in contempt. Do I make myself clear?"

Ephraim sighed. "Forgive me, Your Honor." The judge simply grumbled.

Morgan looked up to find her employer sweating, his fists balled. "Everything okay, Boss?"

"Is he… right? This is how I've always gone about things, but… It's true, without the witnesses, I wouldn't have much in the way of cases. All my ideas come from testimony…"

"So? He's just trying to throw you off. The job of defense attorneys and prosecutors isn't the same. You have to work backwards to untangle all the interpretations they've made. That was what Fado said, wasn't it?"

"She's got you there," Anna agreed.

"It was… still," said Robin, "Ephraim's making for a ruthless prosecutor. He's not giving me even a moment to breathe."

"Hard to blame him, given what's at stake," Anna interjected, "but maybe there's a weakness in that kind of dogged pursuit. Some tunnel vision, you know?"

"Tunnel vision, huh?"

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, "he's so sure he knows everything, maybe he missed out on something specifically _because_ it didn't fit with his version of events."

"He ignored something… that didn't fit… Ah!"

Robin looked over at the detective. "Detective Fletcher, I want to ask you about those shots again."

"Didn't you hear me?" said Ephraim, "You're time's up."

Robin slapped his palms on his desk. "I'll let the judge decide that."

"Continue, Mr. LeBlanc," declared the judge, "Mr. Verlaine, kindly don't presume to rule over my courtroom." Ephraim folded his arms.

"Detective, you said Fado would've been incapacitated by that first shot, right?"

"Like as not, yep."

"Do you think he could have moved his arms? His fingers? Could he have made noise?"

Colm cocked an eyebrow. "Hell, kid, I dunno. Maybe. It'd be hard to concentrate with blood filling up his lungs. Why?"

"I happen to have a very important piece of evidence with me." Robin held up his phone. "On the night of the crime, Fado put in a call to me. I was… asleep, so I failed to answer him."

Ephraim growled lowly, gritting his teeth.

"But he did manage to leave me one last message. A tool that I could use in this trial. Fado left a voicemail following his call. It's timestamped at 5:18 pm, which lines up with your time of death, doesn't it?"

"It does. You sayin' there's something to that call?"

"Why don't I play it for the court to hear?"

"Standard procedure would dictate we give the prosecution an opportunity to listen to it first," said the judge.

"No objections," Ephraim declared, "whatever we're about to hear, I'll let the whole court hear it." The hatred had disappeared from his eyes. There was almost a hopefulness about them now.

Robin tapped on the message to have it play. Immediately, a sharp noise rang out that startled the whole court. Indistinct noises of movement filled the white noise of the message. Then, the horrible phrase Robin had tried to put out of his mind: "Goodbye, LeBlanc." Shortly after, another loud noise came, followed by great grunts of effort, and silence.

Detective Fletcher pinched his chin behind the stand, trying to make sense of what he'd heard.

Ephraim was halfway between his hopefulness and his earlier contempt. He didn't seem to like what he had been forced to listen to. "Goodbye, LeBlanc," he repeated.

"I give," said the detective, "what are you getting at with this?"

"Think of this," Robin said, "it sounded like Fado said something in the middle of that message, right? 'Goodbye, LeBlanc.'"

"Seems like it."

"And at the beginning of the message, there's a sharp sound. Probably a gunshot, right?"

"That seems like a good guess to me."

"And there are no other sounds quite as loud as that one, right?"

"Not really…"

"So, there you have it."

"Have what?"

"Think about the facts again, yours and mine: you claim Fado was shot twice, once in the chest, near his lungs, and once in the head. In the call you just heard, there was one audible gunshot, and Fado said, 'Goodbye, LeBlanc.'"

"But… that's impossible. If that was the first shot, his lungs would be filling up with blood, and there'd be another shot… but if it was the second, he shouldn't have been able to talk at all…"

"Exactly," said Robin, nodding his head, "thanks for helping me make my point, detective."

"Preposterous!" Ephraim slammed his fist down on his desk, "Just what are you claiming, then?"

Robin folded his arms. "I'm claiming that something about the facts as the police presented them is wrong. If you listen to that call, you can tell that there's no way Detective Fletcher's version of events can be true."

"What if that sound at the start wasn't a gunshot at all?" Colm protested.

"Then we have zero gunshots for about ten minutes around the estimated time of death, and yet we do have what sounds like the cantina's owner coming in to apprehend Renault. How could that be?"

"Agh!" Detective Fletcher doubled over.

"All right, you've proposed a theory, finally," said Ephraim, "Let's hear you support it. According to the facts as we previously understood them, Fado Verlaine was shot twice. In your recording, however, we hear only one gunshot, and then Fado says goodbye. Nevertheless, the victim did indeed have two gunshot wounds on his body. How do you explain that?"

"Based on what we know, the only logical explanation is to assume that the gunshot that was recorded was the second shot. If we assume that Fado was indeed shot twice, and we only heard one shot, the only logical assumption is that the one we heard was the second."

"Are you daft? The second shot was the headshot—and yet the victim seemed to speak after that! How could that be possible?"

"I'm… not sure. Maybe he had just enough left within him to utter that message. There's documentation of victims of execution surviving shortly after they should have been dead."

"Those people didn't have a brain hemorrhage administered by gunshot, to my knowledge, though," Ephraim rebutted.

"Either way, it's the only possibility, given the facts. Any other explanation contradicts something else we know for a fact. If that's the only uncertainty we have to live with, then I'd still assert it's the best explanation."

"So be it. All right, then. Fado recorded the second shot that killed him. What does that tell us about the murder, exactly?"

"It's not quite clear, but… if we listen to this message, remember what we hear after Fado's last words? Before the door is thrown open, and Shinon enters, someone in the room is moving."

"'Someone?' I think we can safely assume the only one mobile in the room at that point was Renault."

"Maybe so. But that presents a question, doesn't it? What was he doing?"

"What does it matter? He was found with the weapon in his hand following the murder."

"Exactly. If he had time to move around the room, why didn't he put the weapon down? Or call for help? Or leave? Or do _anything_ that would make sense for him to do if he was trying to get away?"

"We've been over this! The defendant doesn't have to be a smart criminal, he just has to be _the_ criminal."

"But the defendant is, in your words, a legal scholar! Why would a man so knowledgeable about the law just wait around to be discovered after committing a crime?"

"Penitence? Incompetence? Irrationality? Who cares? None of that matters!"

"Maybe not to you, but I wonder if the jury doesn't see where I'm coming from. None of this makes any sense. Something here just doesn't add up."

"Well, unless you can define that 'something,' I'd say we're at an impasse."

"Indeed," the judge declared, quieting both of them, "It seems the court cannot reach a satisfactory conclusion on this matter in the absence of further evidence. In light of that, I would like to recommend that we move on, in hopes that additional evidence presents itself to make the solution to this question clearer. Prosecutor Verlaine, do you have any other witnesses to present to the court?"

"I do, Your Honor."

"Then, please."

"Your Honor, at this time, the prosecution would like to call Shinon Tisamo."

Shinon walked slowly up to the witness stand. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked with malaise at the crowd.

"Name and occupation for the record."

Shinon frowned. "Do I really hafta—"

"Yes." Ephraim's eyes could have felled a tree in a single stroke.

The witness cracked his neck. "I'm Shinon Tisamo, owner and manager of the Blazing Stones Cantina."

"Mr. Tisamo, please tell the court what you observed on the night of November 4th, and also tell us if you had any encounters with Fado Verlaine or Renault Desombres that night."

"Right. So, I was tending bar at the moment, as I usually do. I only have a couple'a substitute barkeeps, 'cause none of 'em do as good a job as me. 'If you want things done right,' you know. Anyhow, I was tending bar when I saw both o' those fellas come up to me—Fado and Renault. I know it was them, 'cause those were the names they wrote down on the deposit registry. Plus, I mean, I saw the crime scene photos. No doubt it was the same guys. They asked me if they could rent a room to play some cards, and I told 'em it was no problem. I put them in the room where the murder eventually took place, showed 'em where the deck of cards was, and gave 'em the key. After that, I went back to work for a while, when, suddenly, I heard this big stir. I looked at the door for not even a minute to see if somethin' would happen, and when I didn't hear anything, I marched straight over there. As you already know, when I opened it, Renault was standing there with the gun in his hand, and Fado was slumped over, bleeding. Well, I didn't need to be told what to do, I ran in and nabbed Renault, wrapped him up good, and got the police to come down. Simple as that."

"Thank you, Mr. Tisamo," said the judge, "Defense, your cross-examination?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin answered. "Mr. Tisamo, did you have eyes on the door the whole time you were working?"

"W-Well… not every second, no. The door was pretty close to me, so I could see it most of the time, but if I had to serve someone, I wouldn't have been able to see it."

"If I may interject," Ephraim said, "How long could that have taken, Mr. Tisamo? How long might you have looked away from the door to speak to one of your patrons?"

"Thirty seconds, maybe? I pride myself on quick service."

"So you see, you shouldn't get ahead of yourself, LeBlanc," said Ephraim, "Mr. Tisamo wouldn't have missed someone entering or exiting the room in such a brief period. Remember too, that the door was locked when Mr. Tisamo entered, and the defendant still had the keys on his person. No one could have gotten out of the room and relocked it with the keys still inside. If someone entered, surely Mr. Tisamo would've been able to spot them along with the defendant and victim."

"Ha! He's really got your number here, doesn't he?" Anna observed.

Robin simply frowned at her. _Thanks for all your help._

"Mr. Tisamo, can I ask you about the playing cards that appear in your establishment?" asked Robin.

"Huh? I guess. What're you wonderin' about?"

"I learned yesterday about a key difference between Ylissean and Plegian card games. I wanted to ask, are the decks that you provide to your patrons Plegian or Ylissean?"

"Oh. They're Plegian. Tarot designs."

"What's your point, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked Ephraim.

"Did you happen to get a look at the cards Fado and Renault were using, Ephraim?" Robin replied.

"Yes, but—oh. I see."

"That's right. The cards that Fado and Renault used were Ylissean cards, not Plegian ones."

"N-No kiddin'?" Shinon stammered, "What's that about?"

"I share the witness's confusion," declared the judge, "care to elaborate, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"The victim and defendant didn't use the cards placed in the room with them," said Robin, index finger and thumb gripping his chin, "that's the obvious conclusion, but there's something else out of place about that."

"And that is?" Ephraim leered at him.

"Do we have the set of cards that was in the room in evidence?" Robin asked, "I'd like for Mr. Tisamo to verify something I observed."

After a quick nod from the judge, the bailiff disappeared into another room and, a few minutes later, returned with the deck of tarot cards in a plastic bag. "What is your request, exactly, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge.

"I want Mr. Tisamo to examine the deck and see if all the cards that should be in that deck are there."

"Objection!" Ephraim shouted, "Relevance. For what purpose do you intend to ask the witness for something so tedious?"

"Mr. Verlaine," Robin said, sounding as professionally courteous as he could, "I'm sure you'll recall that the victim was clutching a playing card in his hand when his body was discovered."

"I do. But I believe that card was a king, part of the Ylissean set those two used. That being the case, I fail to see how examining the tarot deck will reveal anything."

"That's just it. I had a Plegian friend with me on the scene to do some investigating after you left. She told me that the card wasn't a king, but rather an Emperor card, in the style of Plegian tarot decks. If my assumption is correct, that card would be the one from the tarot deck left in the room."

"An Emperor card…? Fine. Proceed."

The bailiff handed a pair of disposable rubber gloves to Shinon, who proceeded to leaf through each of the cards in the deck, taking note of the design on each one. Several minutes passed with the court suspended in stifling silence until Shinon picked his head up. "I'll be damned," he said aloud, "He's right. This deck is missing the Emperor card."

Murmurs rang out through the court. The judge rapped his gavel and demanded order.

"It seems your theory isn't entirely implausible," said Ephraim, "but you haven't yet connected the dots to our witness or our murder. If we assume that the card the victim held was taken from the tarot deck, what does that prove, exactly?"

"Well, the way I see it, there are two possibilities: one, at some point during the game, Fado Verlaine stood up, walked over to the side of the room, grabbed the Emperor card, put it in his hand, and sat back down, or two, someone placed the card in his hand after he died. There's no way Fado could've acquired that card before entering the room, and he was shot before the game ended, so during the game or after his death were the only times that card could've found its way into his hand."

"Very well. Intuition leads me to presume that you think the latter case is more likely. That the card was placed in the victim's hands after he died."

"Why… yes. How did you know that?"

"Your line of reasoning is easy to follow. You want this court to believe the defendant behaved strangely, or that someone else manipulated the scene. There's grave danger in examining the evidence to suit your conclusion, however. Mind that you don't fall into a trap."

"Um…"

"Well, go on. I'm not explaining it for you. Tell the court why you think the card was placed in the victim's hand after he died."

"Right… so, given the possibilities, it would've been very strange for Fado to suddenly stand and grab a card from an unrelated deck. He would've gained nothing by doing it, except maybe a weird look from his opponent. Plus, if we assume the defendant was planning to shoot him, who's to say a sudden move like that wouldn't push the killer over the edge? But if that were the case, Fado wouldn't have died in his seat. Instead, he died with the card clutched carefully in his hand. And I think there's a good reason for that: I think that, prior to his death, Fado had something else in his hand—a key piece of evidence."

"Objection!" Ephraim shouted again. "Oh, this is rich. Is that what you think? The victim had a magical piece of evidence in his hand that will solve all our problems? Maybe he wrote a signed note that identified the killer, too, and hid it in his pocket, but it got stolen by the 'real killer' just before we could find it—darn. Don't confuse wishful thinking for sound reasoning in my courtroom, LeBlanc!"

"This is _my_ courtroom," said the judge.

"Not while I'm talking to _him_ it's not," replied Ephraim. "Now, you! Say something in your defense or stop wasting my time."

"…I can prove it."

Ephraim blinked, then lowered his head. "What?"

"I can prove that the card in Fado's hand was switched for something else. A different card."

Ephraim looked back up, arms folded. "Then do it. What's your proof?"

"It's only circumstantial, but… if you looked at the rest of Fado's hand—the cards that were on the table, I did some double-checking and… Well, Fado had an ace, a queen, a jack, and a ten, all of the same suit—diamonds. Together with a king… that'd make a royal flush. The best hand possible in a game of poker."

Ephraim slammed his fist down on his desk. "That's what you're calling 'evidence?' That's barely even circumstantial. That's an insult to evidence as a concept."

"For more imperative evidence, we can perform the same test we did with the tarot deck."

"The same… ah. Count the cards, hm? But how do we know that the deck those two used isn't different from a standard deck in some way?"

"We can compare it to a standard deck, can't we? A Ylissean deck should have fifty-two cards—an ace, jack, queen, king, and numbers two through ten, all in four different suits. If the only thing missing is a king of diamonds, then it's logical to assume that card was taken, right?"

"Perhaps, but that would only prove that the card had been taken, not that it had been in the victim's hand."

"But pair that information with my earlier remark, and it's the only thing that makes sense, isn't it? Why would Fado only be holding four cards otherwise?"

"Fair point. Bailiff, take a look at the cards in evidence, please."

"Actually, _I'm_ —" the judge began.

"Don't care," Ephraim interrupted him. He snapped his fingers. "Hop to it, bailiff."

The bailiff did as he was ordered, wrapping the court in ominous silence for a few more minutes.

"Boy, Ephraim really knows how to take charge, doesn't he?" Anna whispered to her employer.

"Those who rule by fear don't often see their reigns last long," Robin returned.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself. Maybe if you cracked the whip on me once in a while, I'd get more done."

"Sorry, are you advocating me whipping you?"

"I'm saying it _might_ work."

"If we're putting it to a vote, mine is a big, fat, 'no' on the whipping," said Morgan, grimacing.

"Mr. LeBlanc seems to be correct," the bailiff announced at last. "The only card missing from this deck is the king of diamonds."

The court was livened with whispers again. The judge quieted them with his gavel.

Ephraim applauded slowly. "Well done, LeBlanc. You've got a theory that does hold some water. But now, tell me this, why were the cards switched? What did the killer stand to gain from taking the card from the victim?"

"I… I'm not sure."

"Really, now? You worked so hard to have this little theory of yours confirmed, and yet you don't even know what it means? This is what I mean by interpreting the evidence to suit your conclusion—you've jumped so far ahead of the evidence, you failed to even consider what you're trying to prove with it."

"Th-That's not true! I don't know what the killer wanted with the card, exactly, but Renault Desombres didn't have the card with him when he was arrested! But the card could only have been placed in Fado's hand after he died, right? So, Renault couldn't have been the one who killed him! Or, at the very least, he couldn't have been just standing around waiting to be caught! Either Renault switched those cards, or it's logically impossible for him to have been the killer!"

"I see your point. It's a stupid and ill-conceived point, but I see it."

Robin let out a long exhale. Was Ephraim finally letting him have something? Had he finally made progress?

"Great work, Boss!" Morgan cheered him with a smile. "I think you've got some traction now. I wonder what Mr. Ephraim thinks, though…"

"Besides how many different ways he's going to kill you, that is," Anna quipped.

What was he thinking? Robin looked back across the courtroom and saw Ephraim nod decisively. He realized Robin was looking at him and returned the eye contact. "Well done, LeBlanc. Yes, well done indeed. But you've left us with a rather sticky conundrum, haven't you? 'Either the defendant switched the cards or he's not guilty.' That's how you boiled it down, isn't it? Well, if that's the case, why don't we just ask him?"

Robin felt his heart sink.

"What's wrong, Boss?" Morgan asked. "All the color just drained right out of your face."

"Don't you remember how that guy acted yesterday?" Anna asked her. "That guy makes for as good a witness as a cat makes a good dog."

"Your Honor," said Ephraim, "the prosecution is satisfied with the contributions of Mr. Shinon Tisamo. We'd now like to call the defendant, Renault Desombres, to the stand."

Renault did as he was commanded, rising slowly from the box behind his counsel and plodding up to the stand with the bailiff at his side.

Ephraim closed his eyes, possibly so that he didn't have to look at the one he deemed his father's killer. "Name and occupation," he said measuredly.

"Renault Desombres. I'm a freelance legal scholar and publisher of numerous law reviews. I'm also a professor _emeritus_ at the Lopto University School of Law. Mostly, I'm an old homebody nowadays."

"Mr. Desombres, will you please provide for the court your account of what happened on the evening of 4th, when you met with Mr. Fado Verlaine?"

"I can."

Robin tried to size up his client, but saw nothing in the old man's eyes. They were glazed over, like he was watching a dream rather than his own life. Robin couldn't decide what was motivating that rejection of reality, however—fear? Apathy? Malice? His behavior certainly didn't match that of someone fighting for his life, that much was clear.

"On November 4th," he began, "I had arranged to meet with Fado Verlaine. He and I had met many times in our shared line of work, and we'd reviewed each other's treatises before they were published many times in the past. He told me in an email that he was planning to publish a critique of Ylisse's Substitute Culpability Clause, and he wanted to get some non-Ylissean legal perspective on the issue before he finalized it. Of course, I was more than willing to lend a hand, and so we arranged to meet in the Blazing Stones Cantina, a place I frequent for both meals and drinks. We met up in front of the building, and Fado told me he brought a set of cards with him so we could play a few games while we chatted and caught up. Clearly, he planned to spend most of the evening in there, and that was fine with me, because I had nothing else going on at the time. To spend an evening with my good friend would have been the surest pleasure.

"We rented a private room in the cantina to enjoy our game and conversation in peace. It's something I've done many times before, although I can't recall if Fado and I had rented one together prior to that evening. At any rate, we got settled in and started playing some poker. For the most part, Fado always had my number in poker, and so I was losing the bulk of the games we played. Never much had a head for that game. Anyway, the time came, and I… well… I took up the pistol that I had, and… I had gotten so damnably mad, I simply… I had it in my head that all I could do was… _pow_! I didn't even think of it as I was doing it, just pulled the thing out and— _boom_ , he was dead.

"My sane mind returned, and I realized what I had done. I went around to his side of the table to try to clean things up, only for the owner to storm in, doubtless hearing my movements. He found me straight away and held me in place until the police took me in. And that's all there is to it, that I can recall."

The court watched in silence as Renault finished his testimony. It was all Robin could do to stop his jaw from hanging open.

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," said Ephraim, "straight from the horse's mouth. The defendant lost his mind and opened fire on his friend. Case closed."

"M-Mr. Desombres!" Robin shouted, pounding his fists on his desk, "Allow me to clarify something: are you really admitting that you shot the victim?"

"Did I stutter, lad?"

Ephraim folded his arms. "Now, I'd consider that fairly conclusive evidence, regardless of what the defense has introduced. Following that admission, I'd say the prosecution has nothing further to prove. I'd like to recommend that His Honor move swiftly toward the verdict."

"It _is_ a strikingly direct confession," said the judge, rubbing his chin, "but we must ensure all elements of protocol are carefully followed during this trial. As such, since Mr. Desombres was brought forth as a witness for the prosecution, the defense may now cross-examine him, assuming they would care to exercise that privilege?"

"We most certainly would, Your Honor," said Robin.

"Very well. By your leave, then."

"What are you going to do, Boss?" Morgan asked, worried.

"We'll just have to cross-examine him like any other witness."

"But, Boss… he's our client. Do you really think he was lying?"

"It's not the first time I've dealt with a false confession."

"I guess…"

"Besides, did you listen to that testimony? Didn't something strike you about it?"

"Huh? 'Something' is pretty vague, Boss."

"Remember what I taught you about what a prosecutor needs to prove in order to demonstrate that there's been a murder. What does their suspect have to have?"

"Motive… means… and opportunity. Those are the things, right?"

"That's right. Now, think about what you just heard. Don't some things stick out?"

Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "I think I see what you're saying. Maybe."

"Plus, Mr. Desombres has been a difficult case from the start. He already admitted that there's something he's not telling us. If he won't fight for himself of his own volition, then I'm just going to have to drag the truth out of him whether he likes it or not."

"I've never seen you so fired up, Boss. I guess it sorta makes sense, given the circumstances."

"I have, but only once or twice," Anna noted, "your passion can be kind of infectious…"

"I just hope I don't get too fired up," said Robin, "You're in this with me, too, Morgan. Don't be afraid to rein me in if it seems like I'm going to far."

"Yessir! I'll be the best logic wrangler you've ever seen."

"What about me?" Anna whined, "I wanna do some reining too."

"Anna," Robin sighed, "I know this is all very hilarious to you, but I'm trying to actually focus for a minute."

"And I'm trying to make it so you don't lose your head," she answered, "Look at you: your hands are shaking. You need to calm down." She placed one of her hands over his. "Just take it easy for a second and think carefully."

Robin nodded. Then, he thrust his index finger forward at the witness stand. "And as for you. I told you I was going to do whatever I had to in order to find the truth. I won't let anyone get in the way of that, even my own client!"

Renault frowned, although, for a moment, it almost looked more like a smirk. "Then ask your questions and let's be on with it already."

"As you wish. So, Mr. Desombres, you're dead-set on telling this court that you murdered Fado Verlaine."

"Because I was asked to testify about the truth, yes."

"All right, then, here's a simple question: how did you kill Fado?"

"Really? That's your question? I used a gun."

"I know that much, but I want to get into specifics, to make sure it fits the evidence. What did you do with the gun? How many times did you fire it? Was it your gun? Tell me more about that."

Renault sighed. "Fine. Yes, it's my handgun, one that I keep on me for self-defense, as I have for the last twenty years. I have a concealed carry permit issued to me by the Plegian government, if you care to see it."

"No need, I believe you. So, you brought the gun everywhere, and you took it with you when you met up with Fado. Then what happened?"

"During our game… he made me upset, so I stood up and shot at him. The first shot missed his head, so I fired again to put him down."

"That's strange, don't you think? Fado watched you stand up and shoot at him, and then did nothing as you prepared to shoot him again?"

"Objection," said Ephraim, "I'm not interested in more speculation about the victim's actions. Perhaps he was simply so shocked by the idea of his friend turning on him that he couldn't find the strength to move. One way or another, it doesn't change what happened to him."

"All right, then. What happened after you shot Fado?"

"As I said, I went over to his side of the table to begin cleaning things up, and to confirm that he was really dead."

"And you still had the gun in your hand at that point, right? That's how Mr. Tisamo found you."

"Yes."

"So, you confirmed Fado was dead… did you touch his body at all? Get any blood on you?"

"Not that I recall."

"And the gun was in your hand, so your only free hand was trying to clean up the table, do I have that right?"

"Yes, how many times are you going to ask?"

"Just clarifying."

Ephraim shook his head dismissively. "Are you about done with this exercise in futility?"

"I have one other question I'd like to ask: Mr. Desombres, _why_ did you kill Fado?"

"Why? As I said, I was… disturbed. Upset. I… don't quite recall why, I do believe I simply went mad. I saw Fado as the source of all the evil I could see in the world for a moment, and, without thinking, I drew my gun and shot him."

"I have a theory I'd like to add," said Ephraim, "what if the event that triggered Mr. Desombres was cheating?"

"Cheating?" The judge leaned in.

"That's right. You'll recall the defense's earlier theory about a card being stolen and swapped by the killer? And yet the defense doesn't seem to know why that switch took place. What if we assume, instead, that the card was swapped by the victim himself prior to the game in order to cheat at the game, and that's what set off the defendant? In that case, the missing card is probably somewhere in the victim's home."

"That wouldn't make any sense," Robin replied, "there's no way anyone would mistake the _back_ of a Plegian card from a Ylissean one. If you look at the two decks in evidence, you'll see that they have two completely different colors on their backs: the Ylissean set is blue, but the Plegian set is purple. Plus, the designs themselves are different. You'd have to be legally blind to miss the distinction while sitting at a distance close enough to play poker."

"And what if the victim used some sort of sleeve to conceal the true nature of the card?"

"That doesn't make sense, either. Apart from the fact that there's no such sleeve in evidence, he would've needed to take the card from the other deck and slip it into the sleeve prior to the game without his opponent noticing."

"But it wasn't impossible, was it?"

"Actually, I think it was. If you take a look at the Emperor card Fado was holding, you'll notice that there's no trace of blood on it, unlike any of the other cards he was holding. I think that makes it fairly clear that he couldn't have been holding that card prior to his murder."

Ephraim sighed. "Fine, I'll let you have that one. I guess my explanation lacks for some nuance. Now, are we quite done here? Are you satisfied by what the defendant has said?"

"Oh yes, I'm quite satisfied," said Robin, setting a hand on his desk.

"Oh, indeed? Finally ready to put this to bed, then?"

"Quite satisfied that the witness has been lying through his teeth the whole time!"

"Wh-What's that?!"

"Indeed," said the judge, "I'm also curious to know what you mean. Mr. LeBlanc, could you explain what leads you to believe the defendant is lying?"

"I sure can, but I need to confirm something with Detective Fletcher."

"And what's that, exactly?" asked the detective.

"You said that there were no fingerprints found on the weapon, is that right?"

"Right as rain."

"And yet, to hear you tell it, Mr. Desombres, you decided at random to pull that gun out with your bare hands and fire it at Fado. Tell me, how can that be?"

Renault's expression shifted to anger for the first time. Or was it anger? His eyes narrowed as if he'd been struck directly in the chest. "I-It's… That's…! I was w-wearing gloves during the game, that's all!"

Robin shook his head. "That age-old excuse? I don't think so. Why don't we have Detective Fletcher search your cards for fingerprints? I'm sure we'll find some. Or, how long did you say you owned that gun? Twenty years? Surely there would be some residual prints on there, right?"

"N-No! I cleaned them off! The gun, the cards, all of them…!"

"Is that right? But you were on Fado's side of the table, with only one free hand, you managed to clean off both the gun and the cards that were on your side of the table… are you absolutely sure about all that? Remember, those cards will show the truth no matter what."

"I… that's not… I-I… I don't wish to say anymore. I refuse…!"

"You 'refuse?'"

"Th-That's right, I'm exercising my right to remain silent!"

"Silence? Not a chance! Speak up, you wretched cur!" shouted Ephraim.

"N-No! I have a legal right to reserve comment. I won't say anything more. Nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

"What are you playing at?" Ephraim growled.

"It would seem we've reached another impasse," said the judge, "The defendant does indeed enjoy a legal right to silence—we cannot compel him to testify. That said, the defense's comments do cast significant doubt upon the accuracy of his earlier testimony, so we cannot clearly decide on the matter of the defendant's guilt at this time…"

"Argh!" Ephraim grunted, "Worthless interloper! Well, regardless of the idiot defendant's reticence, the prosecution has published all the evidence it has deemed worthy of consideration. Why don't we just fast-track this question to the jury, then, and let them decide?"

"I'm concerned about the possible implications of such a rushed judgment," said the judge.

"I'm not! I've said all I need to say. Unless the defense has some magic secret evidence that they're going to show us, I say we put this question to the jury and be done with it. There's nothing left to argue or prove, only what's already been said."

The judge scratched his beard, letting the counsels know he was considering the proposition. "What about you, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Boss? What are you thinking?" asked Morgan.

"You can't seriously think a verdict is a good idea," said Anna.

Robin shook his head. "I don't think we're ready to end this trial yet. With things as they are, I'm afraid the jury will still find in Ephraim's favor. There's just too many mysteries left unsolved. And yet, it's hard for me to come up with a good reason to keep prolonging the trial. I've been trying to show that someone else could've committed the murder, but I keep getting stonewalled at every turn. I'm not sure where else I can still go…"

"About that… I might have an idea."

"You do? What is it, Morgan?"

"Oh, _now_ I'm curious," said Anna, leaning toward the junior employee.

"Now, temper your expectations… I don't know exactly how well this'll work, but… see, I noticed a lot of our problems seem to revolve around the gunshots, right? How many shots were there? When was the gun fired? Who fired it? Why was Mr. Verlaine hit twice? All those things, right?"

"Right, and?"

"And you've got that voicemail that lets us hear what we think is the second shot, the one that killed Fado."

"Yes. I'm still not sure where you're going with this."

"Well, I was thinking, since the bullet struck Mr. Verlaine at an angle, couldn't we find an alternate explanation with a little trigonometry, like Detective Fletcher said?"

"T-Trigonometry? That's… math, right? I was never very good at math…"

"I hope that's not the only reason you went to law school," said Anna.

"It wasn't the only one, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a factor," Robin replied.

"Oh, okay… well, um, think about it like this!" Morgan produced a sheet of paper from one of Robin's files. She took out a pen and began to draw a two-dimensional rendering of the room in which Fado had been murdered, including the table and the two sitting players. Then, she made a dot at Fado's forehead. "So… Mr. Verlaine was shot here, right? And the bullet wound appeared at an angle."

"Right, that's why the detective assumed the killer stood up before he shot him."

"Yeah. So, if we estimate that the angle he was shot at was no less than forty-five degrees…" She drew a line extending diagonally out from the dot, reaching all the way out to the top of the drawing. "But it wasn't right overhead either, so…" She drew another line, this one straight vertical coming out of the dot. She then shaded in the area between the two lines. "There. See? Based on the angle he was shot at, we can tell that he was shot at from somewhere in that range."

"I think I get it. That represents every angle he could've been shot at, huh? So, how do we know which one is the right one?"

"That's where that voicemail comes in. See, this range is kinda like a triangle right now, isn't it? The two angle lines combined with the ceiling of the room make up the vertices."

"Uh… yeah…"

"So, we need to know how long it took the bullet to leave the gun and hit Mr. Verlaine. If we know that, plus the velocity at which the gun fires, we can tell how far away it was fired from, and _then_ we can tell the point in this range that it must've been fired from. Make sense?"

"…Not at all."

Morgan rolled her eyes quickly. "Just, uh… can you let me talk to the detective?"

"Sure. Your Honor, my co-counsel seems to think there's more worth investigating before we move forward in this case."

"Really, now?" said the judge.

"We're gonna have to listen to the little girl?" Ephraim scoffed, "I knew you were clueless, LeBlanc, but… honestly?"

"She's smarter than me, in some respects," said Robin, "Detective Fletcher, would you mind answering a few questions?"

"I guess not," said the detective, "I don't get lunch until I'm done here, so just get it over with quickly, would ya?"

"Thanks, detective!" Morgan said cheerily.

"Yeah, sure," he answered a bit more softly.

"So, let me hear this," Morgan demanded, taking hold of Robin's phone and playing the voicemail again. She listened to the first few seconds carefully and took note of the time on the phone. So… it took about seventy milliseconds. From the first 'bang' to the only other sound, something being struck, about seventy milliseconds. Detective, do you know anything about the model of handgun that was used as the murder weapon in this case?"

"Sure do. You lookin' to talk shop, girly?"

"Sorta. I think…?"

"It's a Denning B42503 semi-automatic, .45 caliber pistol. It was created decades ago by a particularly industrious Plegian during a conflict with Ylisse. We don't know much about the guy, except that he wanted to send a message to the Ylisseans with that bad boy. It packs quite a bit of stopping power into a compact little gun."

_Seems like the detective knows his firearms pretty well. I guess everyone has to have a hobby._

"Do you know how quickly a bullet discharged from that gun would move?"

"Yeah. Assuming there's no significant wear on the thing or malfunction slowing it down, you're looking at about two thousand kilometers per hour after it's shot out."

"Two thousand, huh? So that's… roughly five hundred fifty-five meters per second, which means, if the bullet took about seven thousandths of a second to hit, that means it was fired from… Aha! Yep. That's about four meters away. Or twelve feet."

"Twelve feet?" Robin repeated, "That's weird. That table wasn't particularly long, and it definitely wasn't twelve feet long."

"Exactly," Morgan agreed, enthused, "So, if we make another point at about twelve feet, using the rest of the room for scale, that means the bullet was fired from somewhere around… here! Given our range, that means…"

Robin looked at the drawing and suddenly understood. He thanked Fado for giving him such an amazing gift in the form of the voicemail, and praised Morgan for her help before turning forward to the court again.

"So?" Ephraim tapped his foot. "What did your lifeline have to say?"

"She's just given me the means to finally blow this case wide open."

"What did you say?"

"Morgan, join me on this one. Tell the court what you found."

"Oh! O-Okay, so… We know that the bullet that hit Fado's head was shot at an angle, so we can estimate it was fired within this range…" Morgan held out her drawing. The bailiff collected it and handed it to the judge, who stared at it with great interest. "Then, we know what distance the gun was fired from, given the amount of time it took the bullet to hit Fado and the velocity at which it was fired. So, if we work that distance to fit into our range—well, it's twelve feet, at an angle greater than forty-five degrees, so… the only place it could be…"

Robin put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't trail off. Come on, be confident! Tell 'em what you found, just like I would!" Anna smiled at them both.

"R-Right!" Morgan clenched her fists. She thrust her index finger out at Ephraim. "The truth is… it doesn't make any sense for that bullet to have been fired from the table! Instead, the evidence shows it had to have been fired from the ceiling!"

"The ceiling?! Don't be daft!" Ephraim recoiled, "How does that make more sense than it being fired from the table?"

"All the evidence shows the bullet must have been fired from about twelve feet away. The only way that could be true while maintaining the angle that the wound showed is if it was fired from somewhere much higher!" rebutted Morgan, slapping her hands on the desk.

"But that's impossible! There's no evidence to suggest someone fired the gun from the ceiling! And besides, why would the killer have been up there? Are you seriously claiming he stopped in the middle of the game and climbed up to the ceiling to take a shot at the victim?!"

"Well, I… um…"

"I've got this one," said Robin, "As a matter of fact, we did find evidence to indicate that the gun was fired from the ceiling. I just didn't realize it until now. See, we found a chunk of dark wood on the floor in the room. At first, I wondered if it had just come off the table, or from somewhere else, now it's clear to me: that wood was shaved off by the misfire that grazed Fado! In fact, it came from the rafters above the room!"

"And just how can you prove that?!"

"Examine the rafters, easy enough. But, even before that, I happen to know that most of the wood that holds up the Blazing Stones is a special kind of wood, very rare, probably imported specifically for that reason. The chances of it coming from anywhere else are slim to none!"

Anna folded her arms and nodded, supremely cocky.

"Wh-What?!"

"So that's it!" said Robin, planting his hands on the desk beside Morgan, "Morgan's calculations and my evidence prove it: the only place that gun could have been fired from was the ceiling!"

"No!" Ephraim growled. "That's absurd! Why would Renault have climbed up to the ceiling to shoot the victim?!"

"What if…" Robin began, putting a finger to his temple, "it wasn't Renault?"

"Don't. You. Dare!" Ephraim hissed.

"It'd be a pretty simple trick. All someone would have to do is rent the room, climb into the rafters, and then wait for the players to arrive. Then, when they did come in, he could take his shot, wait for someone to come in and mistake the other player for the culprit, and hide away until he had a chance to make his escape!"

"You're forgetting something! Even if we assume that no one ever managed to notice this extra person hiding in the room, Renault was still holding the gun when Shinon entered the room!"

"Maybe the killer came down and brought it with him. Maybe Renault _had_ noticed him after the shots, and so they fought, and when the killer heard Shinon coming, he scurried back to his hiding place to let Renault take the fall!"

"That…! That…! There's just no way that can be right!"

"Whoa! Whoa! WHOA! Wait a second!"

The temporary clamor in the court was immediately silenced by the outburst. When they looked around, their gazes settled on Shinon Tisamo with his hands on either side of his head, looking more expressive than he had since he entered the courtroom. "I… didn't even think of this until just now," Shinon said, "but when the defense guy said all that just now, it reminded me… something happened the day before the murder."

"Something 'happened?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. See, the day before, I had two guys rent that exact room from me. I didn't think it was relevant to the investigation at all, 'cause there were other people who had rented that same room on that day—the day before the murder, I mean—and nothing seemed to happen to them, but it just occurred to me… only one of those guys ever came back to me. He said his friend had bolted without paying, and I never saw him leave, so…"

"So it's possible he was still in the room the whole time," Robin finished for him.

"Looks that way." Shinon's eyes were grave and acute.

"Do you have the names of those men available to you, Mr. Tisamo?"

"Hmph. Well, I have them on my deposit register, but they paid cash, and I don't have any way to verify that those were their real names, so… I don't know."

"Then I guess that's as far as we go for now."

The judge nodded. "I concur with Mr. LeBlanc. It is now abundantly clear to me that the state of this case prevents me from allowing a verdict until further investigation is conducted. With that in mind, I will give both defense and prosecution the opportunity to discover further evidence and bring it to court the day after tomorrow—that is, November 8th—at a time to be determined later. I expect both counsels to research their evidence carefully so that we may bring the trial to an end on that date. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin said, nodding.

Ephraim was barely supporting his weight on his desk. "Yes… Your Honor."

"Very well, then. This trial is hereby suspended!" The judge swung his gavel, and everyone began to drift out of the courtroom.

[November 6th, 4:38 pm, Ereb District Court – Defendant Lobby]

Robin took a few steps toward one of the chairs in the lobby and flopped down in it with a massive sigh. Morgan came to his side immediately. "You okay, Boss?"

"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his eyes and nose, "just totally worn out. That was one of the most exhausting trials I've ever taken part in."

"I'll say," Morgan agreed. "My legs are actually sore from standing around so long."

"I think I actually got bags under my eyes while I was awake, I'm so tired," said Anna, "Is that a thing? Can that happen?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," said Robin, "Ephraim fought tooth and nail because it was his father we were talking about in there. I think, with all our evidence, we finally managed to get through to him. That's progress for sure."

"I hope so."

"Speaking of which," Robin moved his hand out of his face and looked at Morgan, "you did a great job with those deductions of yours. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"No doubt about it," Anna agreed, "You were something else in there."

"Oh, that was nothing… just a little guess based on some math."

"It was a huge step in a criminal trial. And you told the court about it so confidently. You should be proud, Morgan. You're not even timid like I was in my first trial."

Morgan rubbed her head, shying away. "Well, if you think so…"

"I do. I'm a proud teacher today."

Morgan giggled. Anna smiled at them both.

"So, what's the plan now?" Anna asked.

"Not sure," said Robin. "Obviously, we'll have to get back to investigating tomorrow, but as for tonight… I think we could all use a bit of rest and a good meal. How's that sound for starters?"

"As long as you're paying," Anna said, walking by him and toward the door.

"I heard Plegians dry out this certain fruit, and it's supposed to be really good," Morgan said, following her, "I think it's called a 'fig.'"

Robin summoned his strength to get up and walk after them. "Why yes, I could use a little help standing, thank you very much, my two loyal employees who are always there to help me and definitely don't just walk away from me before our conversations are over."

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Trial Day 1 – End]


	19. Turnabout in the Tower: Investigation Day 2

[November 7th, 8:41 am, Roncontra Hotel]

Robin put down his brief and saw Anna take another sip of her coffee. Morgan was scarfing down the remains of her complimentary breakfast. There was a newspaper lying on the table, mostly untouched. It showed a dramatic photo of the crime scene, focusing on Fado's arm hanging over the side of his chair. The card Robin had found was in the center of the frame, surrounded by Fado's hand.

"Still studying hard, I see," said Anna, "Got a plan for today?"

"Yeah. Who're we gonna talk to first?" asked Morgan, cheeks full of food.

"I'm still curious about Renault's behavior," Robin said, stroking his chin, "I don't know why he so adamantly refuses any of the defenses I'm willing to provide. He kept saying vague things about how I should stay out of all this and avoid what happened to Fado, but none of it really made any concrete sense."

"I wonder if he's protecting someone," Morgan hypothesized. "That's what made me turn around at first. When I learned Nino was going to get in trouble, I didn't think about what was happening, I just felt like I had to protect her."

"I suppose that's possible, but, in that case, who would he be protecting?"

"A family member, maybe?"

"Doubt it," said Anna. Robin and Morgan turned their attention to her. "I did a little looking around last night, and found some info on our client. Among other things, I know for a fact that he doesn't have any living family. He's never been married or had children, and his parents passed away several years ago. As far as I can tell, he was an only child, too."

"So much for that idea," said Robin. He let out a sigh. "Well, I didn't really expect the solution to be that simple, anyway. The premise remains the same: Renault is hiding something from us, something that he thinks is out of our reach, and since he refuses to tell us anything more about it, the only thing we can do is keep digging up evidence until we figure out what's really going on here."

Morgan nodded her head. "Spoken with conviction, Boss. So… uh, how are we gonna find more stuff out?"

"I think the best thing to do is to go off of yesterday's trial: we start by figuring out who rented the room before Fado and Renault. Once we know that, we should have some extra leads."

"Sounds like a plan! Let's do it!" Morgan pumped her fist.

"You guys go on ahead," Anna said, "I'm going to keep digging for now. I'm not exactly awake yet…"

"No problem," Robin said, "just let us know if you find anything important. Otherwise, I'll call you when we're coming back."

Anna gave him a nod, and Robin invited Morgan to step out of the hotel room with him.

[November 7th, 9:23 am, Blazing Stones Cantina]

The building looked every bit as dark and dingy as it had on the day Robin had first entered it. Because it was an active crime scene, the bar was eerily deserted. Chairs and stools sat empty, gathering dirt and dust as they were neglected. When Robin and Morgan approached the bar, they could hear shuffling in the back room. Robin decided to call out to alert the other person to their presence: "Hello? Is someone back there? We're with Renault Desombres's defense…"

The shuffling stopped, and, in a moment, they watched Shinon Tisamo emerge from the back room. "Oh, it's you guys," he said, acknowledging them both, "Back to have another look at the place?"

"Actually," said Robin, "we were hoping to get a look at that ledger you talked about in the trial. We'd like to see who rented the room before Renault and Fado."

"Ah, that's right. The angry prosecutor guy came in earlier askin' about the same thing."

 _So, Ephraim already beat us to the punch. No surprise there, I guess_.

"See, problem is… there doesn't seem to be anythin' useful there."

"What do you mean?"

"Have a look for yourself." Shinon brought out his ledger and flipped to a page in the middle. He sat the book down flat on the bar for Robin and Morgan to see.

Robin could read two names: "Otto Feldspar and Callum Tigris."

"Ring any bells?" Shinon asked.

"Not even a little."

"Then there you go. They paid their deposit in cash, so I know exactly as much as you do."

"I guess it makes sense: someone pulling off a ruse as complex as this must've been pretty careful about how they did it."

"Pisses me off. Using my business for their little murder plot? I don't like it one bit. I ever get my hands on those guys, they'll wish they could go to jail instead."

Robin sighed. "Well, we appreciate your help anyway, Mr. Tisamo."

"You don't gotta call me that outside the court. Just 'Shinon' will do."

"Right, well, thanks, Shinon."

"Oh! That reminds me: I don't have no special evidence for you guys, but I _did_ get a message for ya. Normally, I don't deal with passin' that kinda crap back and forth between people—it's how ya get yourself wrapped up in rackets, y'know—but I made an exception when this lady came by sayin' she wanted to send a message to Renault Desombres's defense attorney. Sounded interesting."

"A lady? Looking for me? What'd she have to say?"

"She said to meet her at Uhai Lowlands Market as soon as you can."

"Sorry… what market?"

"Leave the cantina and go right, follow the road until you get to Breguet Boulevard, hang a left, and then keep going for three lights. On the fourth light, turn right, and you'll end up at Uhai Lowlands. They have a bazaar there that lets in different vendors every week."

"I see. That's an interesting place to meet. I wonder who this lady is."

"That's what I was wonderin', too. She did give me a name, but it didn't mean much to me. Said I should tell you she was Leah Burg."

Robin's eyes flashed. "Oh! Leah Burg, huh? Well, that _does_ make things a little clearer… though I'm still not sure what she'd have to say to me at this point."

Shinon nodded, then folded his arms. When no one said anything further, he leaned forward. "Well, you gonna let a guy in on anything? I kept that message 'cause I wanted to see where this was going."

"I don't think she'd like me sharing too much, but… Ms. Burg is a recent acquaintance of mine. We met while I was investigating an earlier case. I don't know exactly what her status is, but suffice it to say she seems… influential."

"That's what I like to hear," said Shinon, grinning. He surveyed the room conspiratorially. "So, tell me this: how 'well acquainted' are you two, huh? This a cat-and-mouse thing?"

"Uh, no." Robin's face fell. "Nothing like that. She's not really… er, I'm not really her type, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh, yeah…" Shinon nodded sagely, "professional lady, huh? More into the dumb muscle-heads she can boss around. Makes sense."

"That's not exactly what I—"

"Well, anywho, I shouldn't be pryin' too much. You go on and do your investigating. And you come back any time you need to. Just make sure you got some interesting info to share, and I'll be happy to give you what I can."

"Thanks, Shinon."

Robin took Morgan by the hand and led her out of the cantina. The pair hopped in Robin's car and set out for the market they'd been told to visit. Robin spent the whole drive wondering what his contact was planning to tell him.

[November 7th, 10:07 am, Uhai Lowlands Market]

Robin and Morgan entered the bazaar and walked slowly from stall to stall, not certain what they should be looking for. The sun had begun to rise higher into the sky and had already made the lit portions of the market sizzle with heat. The wandering shoppers kept to shady spots near the stalls as they bargained for an eclectic range of goods: fresh fruits, hand-made rugs and carpets, furniture, glassware, artwork, and, of course, the cheesy tourist memorabilia that seemed to somehow materialize at every remotely popular travel destination.

Robin searched in the gaps between the stalls to see if anyone might be waiting for him, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. He found no luck, however, and ended up admiring some of the paintings of a local artist. He gazed longingly into a piece that depicted the desert sands and sapphire skies meeting and intermingling, figures glimmering in the starlight on the horizon. It was a beautiful and strangely nostalgic painting, and he enjoyed looking at it immensely. So immensely, in fact, that it took him several minutes to realize Morgan had left his side. When he did realize as much, Robin jumped along with his heart, and he fitfully scanned the crowd for his departed employee.

He was greatly relieved when he spotted her harassing the fruit vendor over figs. He marched over to her side.

"Come on! Lemme sample _one_! How'm I gonna know if they're any good if I can't even taste 'em?"

"Get your fingers offa my fruit, or you're gonna lose 'em, girl!"

"Hey!" Robin shouted, yanking Morgan away from the stall, "Young lady, you should _not_ be leaving my side in a crowded place like this! It's dangerous!"

She blew a raspberry. "I'm fine! I was only a few feet away."

"That brat's yours? I should charge you for driving away my customers!" hollered the fruit vendor.

"I'm not talking to you right now!" Robin barked back. The fruit vendor shriveled at his tone and decided to cut his losses.

"Morgan," Robin said intensely, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I know you don't think you need to worry, but you have to understand—"

"I know you're trying to help, Boss, but I'm fine on my own. I was before I met you, too. I don't need to be told what to do. I can figure things out for myself."

"I'm sure you probably can—"

"Probably? There's no two ways about it! I've got it covered!"

"Morgan," Robin said gravely, quieting her down, "I know you're very capable, but it has been a rough few days for me. I am very worried about things happening to people close to me. Do you understand?"

Quite suddenly, she did. "Oh."

"Yeah. So, I know you're a very smart girl, and you probably _wouldn't_ have any problems on your own, so I'm asking you… please… be careful, and stay where I can see you, okay?"

"Y-Yeah. Uh… sorry."

"It's all right. Now, shall we get back to looking?"

"Who you lookin' for?"

Robin turned around. A figure in a black cloak was looming over them both. Robin eyed the figure suspiciously. "No one. We're looking for stuff to buy."

"But Boss—"

"Morgan." He glared at her.

"Oh. Um… yeah. Never mind."

"Didn't seem like it. I've seen you two wandering up and down this market for a while now, and you ain't bought nothin'. My guess is you're looking for someone."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Someone named Leah Burg."

"Never heard of her."

"Oh no? Then you're not Robin LeBlanc, huh?"

"Nope."

"Ah, that's a shame. Gonna be a real waste, then."

Robin looked around. "Waste? What are you talking about?"

"Well, if I've made a mistake, then it's too bad, but I can't have anyone knowing about this."

"Can't have anyone…" Suddenly, Robin's eyes narrowed. "Morgan, I want you to run back to the hotel as fast as you can."

"Wh-What?"

"Don't say anything, just go."

"I don't—"

Before she could finish her thought, Robin lunged at the figure and took them to the ground. They kicked and struggled, but were incapacitated by his sudden maneuver. Patrons of the bazaar turned to look at the scuffle.

"What are you doing, you idiot?!" the cloaked figure railed.

"Buying time. If I can't get away, she can. Then everyone will know what happened here. You've already lost, so just give it up! Tell me who sent you!"

"Robin!" the figure shouted, whipping off her hood, "It's me, you moron! Get off!"

"Heather?!" Robin started, "What the hell?"

"Not so loud, jackass!"

Morgan stood beside them both, watching carefully. "Um, should I still run away, or…?"

Robin got off Heather and helped her to her feet, brushing the sand from both of them. "What's going on here, Heather?"

"Do you mind not telling everyone in a two-mile radius who I am?" she growled at him, "I was _trying_ to be somewhat inconspicuous, here."

"So what the hell was all that stuff about 'anyone knowing about this?'"

"It was supposed to be a test. Usually scares off pretenders."

"Well it was a _shitty_ test! You already _know_ what I look and sound like, why bother?"

"Plegian agents can be pretty tricky. You wouldn't know, but I have reasons to be careful."

Robin massaged his face. "Yeah, well, your caution damn near gave me a heart attack. Seeing as how you dug through my litigation history, I figured you'd know I have some hang-ups about people threatening me."

Heather Luxberg paused, cooling off. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it had shaken you up that bad."

"Whatever. I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's move on: I assume you had a good reason for telling us to come out here."

"I did. But we've got a few too many eyes on us now, so come with me."

Robin and Morgan followed Heather as she walked down a nearby alley and made several additional turns, looking over her shoulder every few seconds, until she finally came to a halt. "This'll do."

"Okay… so, what's going on?"

"I've been watching the trial. Well, not literally, but I've kept tabs on what's happened. Fado's death was bigger news than you might think, and I had a feeling you'd be involved when I learned about it."

"All right, and?"

"The stuff you pulled together at the end, about the killer renting a room? That was some good deduction. I've known a few Plegian agents who did stuff like that, waiting in rooms for hours or even days to get their targets alone."

"Plegian agents… like government agents? Spies? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about people who make things happen out of the public light."

"What _is_ your job, anyway?"

"Robin. You're a smart guy. I think you've already pieced it together. Whatever you're imagining is probably as close to the truth as I'm willing to admit."

 _Why is it no one ever thinks it's valuable to actually explain things to me?_ "Fine, I won't ask any more. I'm still not sure what you wanted from me, though."

"Right. So, I assume you came here because you got my message from the owner of that cantina, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"He let me have a look at the names on that ledger of his. I'm sure they meant nothing to you, but I did some digging and found out that they're codenames for a pair of Plegian agents, just like I thought."

"Again with 'agents,' huh?"

"They _used_ to work for the Plegian government officially. What they're up to now, I couldn't say, but they do still have active clearance for certain privileged information and buildings."

"All right… so we don't know exactly what they were up to… but you think this all has something to do with Fado?"

"No doubt about it. You proved in court that if things went down like you say, this murder could only have been premeditated. If I were a betting girl, I'd say those two were on someone's payroll, though I couldn't guess who right now."

"That makes sense. So… the names on the ledger were codenames, right? What are the agents' real names?"

"Valter Mani and Caellach Broduin. Never met 'em personally, but everything I've seen indicates they're bad news. While Caellach worked for Plegia's special police units, he had a dozen arrests thrown out due to their brutal nature. You have any idea how brutal you have to be to get an arrest thrown out as a member of the _riot police_ in _Plegia_?"

"By your tone, I'm going to say it's a lot."

"Fractured ribs. Partial blindness. Collapsed lung. Paraplegia due to spinal cord injuries. That's just a few of 'em."

"That's bad."

"Yep."

"And they let him stay on?"

"Not for long. Not officially, anyway. The higher-ups liked his style. He was vicious, no doubt, but he got results, and he wasn't a total moron. He'd been a part of the Plegian military for years before he was dishonorably discharged under similar circumstances. He had a good tactical mind that made him useful for large-scale operations."

"You weren't kidding. He does sound like bad news." Robin heard his own voice quiver. "What about the other one?"

"Valter is one to be concerned about for a whole other reason. He made his living as a physician before he got his government job. He graduated med school with tons of honors and some of the highest grades awarded to any student at the school. He got a job with a big hospital right away, and when he made enough money, he moved to a smaller, private practice where he only attended to very wealthy patients."

"A doctor? There's got to be more to it than that."

"Boy, is there. See… after he'd been running his private practice for a few years, some pretty disturbing rumors got out about Valter. To say he wasn't up to ethical standards would be a massive understatement. Well, the police investigated and found out it was basically all true. They raided his place and put him behind bars. Then, they gave him an ultimatum: tell them everything he'd learned, or die in prison. You can guess which one he chose."

"'Everything he'd learned?' What do you mean by that?"

Heather turned her head down the alley. "Sometimes, when the Plegian special police arrest a suspect and interrogate them… if the suspect isn't cooperating, they'll inject them with a little syringe full of a red-purple liquid. Then they leave the room. The suspect won't feel anything abnormal for about twenty minutes, but then they'll feel an intense pressure on their sinuses. Suddenly, they'll feel short of breath, and their muscles will start spasming. The neurons in their brain fire endlessly, making them lose control of their motor functions. Some have broken bones swinging their limbs around wildly. Some have sustained brain contusions from banging their heads off of surfaces. Some have bitten of their own tongues."

Robin shrunk. "Y-You mean…?"

"This is why I wanted to tell you about these guys, Robin," Heather said, turning her head back to him.

"Y-Yeah… now that I'm hearing it… I can't thank you enough."

"Follow-up question, then: are you going to stick with this case?"

"Huh?"

"Your defense is going to go nowhere without a lead on possible alternate suspects. I just gave you two. But I also told you what you're up against if you decide to follow those leads."

"Oh. Right. Plus, how can I prove any of this? I doubt the court will accept hearsay from an anonymous foreign agent, and I'm sure you don't want to be named…"

"All true. That's why you'd need to arrest them on some other grounds. And then, once they're in police custody, perhaps someone will happen to notice the connection to your case with their codenames…"

Robin stared at her. "Can you really pull that off?"

"Not alone. And not without a good reason. So, I'm asking you again: are you committed to defending Renault Desombres?"

It only took Robin a moment to decide. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Heather nodded. "All right. Now, onto the next step of the plan. Since those two went into the place together, it means they're most likely working as a unit. With that in mind, if one of them gets in trouble, the other's going to know what's going on pretty quickly. That means we have to go after them at about the same time."

"How can we do that? Herd them into one place?"

"No. For one, they'd be even more dangerous together than alone, and for another, the nature of their work means that even if they were acting as partners, they'll keep their distance from one another to avoid suspicion."

"So, what, then?"

"We'll have to split up and trap them separately."

"Oh. Er… well… I don't know if—"

"Don't worry, I wouldn't send a civilian to do something like this by himself. I've got a friend in town who owes me a favor. He'll lend you a hand."

Robin looked at the ground, taking stock of everything he'd just been told. "And this is the only way, huh?"

"The only way if you want a chance at winning this game. Your opponent isn't playing fair."

"We can't do anything but cheat right back… All right, let's do it."

"I'll send you a text in a little while. Don't respond to it, just read it carefully. Do exactly what it says."

"Got it."

Heather smiled. "You've got some guts for a lawyer, kid. I'm sorry for ever thinking you weren't trying to do the right thing."

"You've more than made up for it, trust me."

She gave him another smile and a nod. Then held up her palm, signaling for Robin and Morgan to wait. She wrapped herself back up in her cloak and slowly plodded out of the alleyway. Robin stood still with Morgan until he couldn't see her anymore, and then waited a few extra minutes before leading his employee out of the alley as well.

When they were sure the coast was clear, Morgan looked up at her boss. "Are you really going to do that, Boss? Go after one of those scary Plegian agents?"

"It's like Heather said: I don't have a choice if I want to win this. And damn, do I ever want to win this."

"Still… going after people like the ones she was talking about… it seems really dangerous."

"Yeah. It does. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared as hell. But…" Robin thought back. He imagined his first trial again, and all the images associated with it. He felt his feet glued to the floor as Fado leapt in front of him, and he saw the blood spill out from Fado's shoulder. He felt the gun pressed to his temple. "But… even when it scares you, you have to be willing to do what's right. Nothing matters more than seeing justice done. A lawyer can't shy away from things that might frighten him if they mean a better chance of bringing the truth to light—of helping the client. Sometimes, you just have to take a risk to make sure things turn out the way you know they should."

Morgan nodded. "I haven't seen you this passionate since you told me about Mr. Verlaine and what he did for you. I think you're giving off a similar air right now."

"Heh. I hope so. For now, though, I need to stop with the speeches and get you back to the hotel."

"Hm? I'm going to the hotel?"

"You're not coming with me, that's for sure. Remember what I said earlier, at the bazaar?"

"Oh, right. I guess I understand, but… I want to help you, and I'd feel terrible just waiting around for you to come back from something so dangerous."

"Then don't just wait around. Help Anna with her research, okay? Figure out everything you can about all the names and places we've heard in this trial. Dig deep and pull out your own conclusions, that way, even if something goes wrong, this trial won't go away. Make sure people never hear the end of it. This case stinks, and we all know it."

"So, find enough information to be a nuisance?"

Robin nodded. "Another big part of being a lawyer is knowing exactly enough to be a pain in people's asses."

[November 7th, 5:22 pm, Nabata Desert Outskirts]

The sun was making its slow descent past the horizon. Purple eclipsed the blues and golds of the desert at sunlight, and the heat from said light also flew back into the retreating skyline. Robin looked down at his phone. First, he checked the time, then he re-checked Heather's text. He wasn't mistaken—whoever Heather's contact was should've been there seven minutes ago. He had traveled to a row of shabby-looking houses near the edge of the desert, leading up to the exact house number he was staring at now. He was couched on a dune far away from the road—if it could be called as such—that connected this forgotten little village with the rest of Plegia, just as Heather had instructed, and yet, the contact still hadn't appeared. Robin sighed. At first, it only annoyed him a little, but it slowly dawned on him that if his ally didn't appear, he'd be forced to either take on the Plegian agent himself, or risk said agent escaping while Heather performed her task. Neither sounded particularly appealing.

"I guess you're not in the information business?"

Robin yelped and, in his shock, rolled several feet down the side of the dune he'd been hiding upon. He shook the sand from his hair and face in time to see a figure sliding much more gracefully down the dune beside him. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Robin studied the young man carefully, trying to discern his intentions. He was a little short, and very lithe. His muscles were defined, but overall, he was quite slim. He had short, light brown hair, not unlike the color of the sand around them, and he wore dark brown boots, slim brown pants, an army-green shirt, and a lime-colored sleeveless vest overtop. Above all that, he had a conspicuous red scarf tied around his neck, flowing around his right shoulder and over his back, not unlike a cape. His face was a mix of blithe and serious. He seemed to have been expecting someone a bit more… qualified.

The scarf gave him away as friendly, at least. Robin recalled Heather's text saying that her contact would be wearing such an article. He repeated the passphrase Heather had given him: "'What can defeat a thousand dragons led by one pegasus?'"

"'A thousand pegasi, led by one dragon.'"

"You're Heather's contact, then."

"In the flesh. You're Mr. Robin LeBlanc, then, huh?"

"That's right. And you are…?"

"Matthew Terras. But you didn't hear that."

"Didn't hear… so, can I take it you're involved in the same business as Heather?"

"More or less." Matthew chuckled. "There's considerable overlap. I gather information for a group in Ostia. That's the most you need to know."

"Ostia, hm?" _Something about that sounds familiar. Did someone from Ostia come up in one of my cases?_

"Now then," said Matthew, ascending the sand dune once more, "How shall we approach this?"

Robin followed him. "I don't know. As you guessed, I don't really have any experience with this sort of thing."

"All right, let's see… it's a two-story house with only a few windows. No garage. Only one door—no back. So, he's got a funnel. That means even with the element of surprise, the front door's no good. Windows are probably be locked, but we can get around that. That said, he might be anticipating that, so we'll have to be careful. How good are you at climbing, guy?"

"I've only fallen out of about a third of the trees I've climbed. Broke my arm twice. Not both arms—it was the same one both times."

"…Right. Just, er, follow my lead, okay?"

"I'll do what I can."

Silently, the pair both slid down the other side of the dune and began their slow approach to the house. Night crept in further and further around them, providing them the convenient disguise of darkness. They made it to the house without interruption: all the windows were shut, and no lights were on. They closed in, and Matthew jumped onto the side of the house, his fingers catching a ledge below one of the windows. He pulled himself up delicately. Robin looked at the wall and, shrugging, took a few running steps toward it before hearing a harsh hiss. He looked up and saw Matthew holding has palm out and shaking his head. Robin stepped away from the wall.

He watched Matthew's fingers fiddle around near the center of the window. In a moment, he heard a satisfying "click," and Matthew slid the window open. Robin looked up for approval, but Matthew shook his head again. He brought his legs up onto the open windowsill and reached into the building, and Robin watched his arms move around beyond the wall before his face reappeared. He tossed a wire and some kind of mechanism out of the building and into the sand below. Finally, Matthew waved for Robin to follow.

Robin did his best to copy Matthew's form, but obviously did not share his agility. He managed to barely grasp the same ledge Matthew had, and his companion pulled him up from there. They both set their feet down as quietly as possible inside the room.

At once, Robin noticed that there was nothing in the room but a single round table, and on that table, a shotgun had been propped up and pointed at the window at a considerable angle. It would have been completely unnoticeable looking in from the unopened window. Seeing Robin's interest, Matthew thumbed at the floor near the window, and Robin spotted another mechanism similar to the one Matthew had tossed out the window. _Damn. It looks like these agents are really serious about not being found_.

"All right," Matthew whispered, "Stay here, and don't move. I don't want you to alert him by accident, so just sit tight unless I need help."

"And how will I know if you need help?"

"You'll know."

Robin pouted, but decided against saying anything else as Matthew began to creep out of the room and down the hall.

Matthew stalked down the hallway, making each step as quiet as he possibly could. He glanced into two other bedrooms as he walked, but found nothing. Literally nothing. The home was clearly abandoned, and the agent inside was likely only using it as a temporary shelter. That reaffirmed the need to capture him tonight, or else they would lose track of him completely. As he neared the end of the hall, Matthew spotted a light flickering from behind that door. He brought himself up against the corner of the wall near the room and peeked inside: a tall, hulking, muscular figure lay spread out on a cot on the room's floor, and beside him sat a flickering lantern. Matthew took a few steps forward, scanning the floor and walls nearby for other potential traps, but didn't find anything. As he loomed over the figure, he saw the face, and knew it could be none other than Caellach Broduin. He took a few steps closer, and, suddenly, the figure sprang up from his cot and wrapped his arms around Matthew.

Cursing his luck, Matthew kicked and struggled, but it quickly became clear that he was no match for his opponent's strength. Next, he tried to cry out, but one of Caellach's massive arms left his body and closed itself around his neck, squeezing down his voice. Matthew tried again and again to shout, but all the noise was stifled into small choking and sputtering sounds. He lamented being so vague with Robin, but clung to some small hope that the attorney would figure out the situation.

For a moment, he felt himself grow light as he heard footsteps draw near, but then he realized that as soon as Robin walked in, he, too, would likely be rendered inactive by a man as powerful as Caellach. Matthew tried to squeak out a warning, but no meaningful sound could escape his throat. Following the sounds, Caellach raced out the door, still choking Matthew, and hoping to get the drop on the second intruder. When he emerged into the hallway, he looked toward the room with the open window, and found nothing but a single stone on the floor.

It only took Caellach a second to realize what had just happened, but by then, it was already too late. He felt a weight slam into his back, and his grip on Matthew loosened.

Grateful for the opportunity, Matthew rolled out from under the collapsing Caellach, and quickly delivered a boot to his head to stun him further. Robin collapsed with their enemy, falling onto his back, and quickly using his own arms to pin Caellach's down. Matthew joined him, producing a pair of handcuffs, and the pair each clasped one of their foe's massive arms into the cuffs before getting off him.

Once their target had been subdued, Matthew stomped on the back of his head. "That one's just for good measure," he said, voice raspy. He turned to face Robin. "Looks like I might have underestimated you a bit. That was a pretty good trick."

"I'm as surprised to see it work as you are," replied Robin. "Honestly, I think it was just good luck."

Muffled, from underneath Matthew's boot, the pair heard Caellach speak: "And just what do you two idiots think you're doing? What do you think you're gonna get from wrapping me up like this? Did someone put you up to this?"

"We're just a couple of concerned citizens stopping some dirty beggar from squatting on private property," Matthew answered. "We're going to turn you in to the proper authorities. And then… they might ask you some questions about the murder of Fado Verlaine."

Caellach went quiet.

Matthew removed his scarf and wrapped it around Caellach's eyes before helping him up. "To be clear, I'm not a cop," said Matthew, "which means I'm not concerned about procedure. You try to run away, and I'll shoot out both your kneecaps. Am I clear?"

Caellach said nothing. Robin glanced at Matthew, seeing no gun on his person. Matthew winked.

The pair escorted Caellach down the stairs and out of the abandoned house, and once they had gotten some distance from it, Matthew looked over at Robin. "All right, you'd best be on your way now."

"Huh? What about you? And him?"

"Don't worry," Matthew said, jostling Caellach's handcuffs, "I've done this plenty of times before. I can handle this guy now. Plus, he knows better than to try anything stupid at this point. You just run along. It'll be fine, I promise."

"If you're sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure. We're just gonna take a nice walk and chat. Maybe sing some folk songs."

"We movin' or not?" Caellach grumbled.

Matthew kicked one of his legs out from under him. "Oops. Looks like you tripped. Gotta watch yourself on these shifty sand pathways."

Robin looked down at their captive, and then nodded at Matthew. He took off in a separate direction, heading back toward his car, which he'd parked at a convenience store several blocks away.

Not long after, Robin spilled into his car, sweating and panting hard. His heart hadn't quite managed to settle itself, and his mind was still reeling, wondering what he was going to do. What would happen at the trial? Would Matthew be all right? What about Heather? Had she succeeded? He couldn't even begin to concentrate.

When he felt at least confident enough to reopen his eyes, Robin pulled out his phone and dialed Anna's number. He waited while it rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey Anna."

"Hey. Everything all right? You sound like you can barely breathe."

"That's correct, but I'm okay. We did it. Heather's friend and I… we managed to get the agent. Caellach. We got him in handcuffs. The other guy is taking him to the police now."

The phone was silent for a few seconds. "Well, hot damn. That's great, Robin. I… have to admit, I wasn't quite sure about all this, but I'm really glad to hear you pulled it off."

"You… weren't sure?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you were the one who told me how dangerous all this was. After everything that's happened to you, I wasn't sure if you really knew what you were getting into."

"So why didn't you stop me?"

"It was a very Fado thing to do. Remember when that crazy lady tried to have me kidnapped? And you were all worried about me?"

"I do."

"Well, I told you that wasn't the first time something like that had happened, right? Fado had a way of sticking his nose into places that got him in trouble. But he never let anyone stop him from learning what he wanted to know. That's why, even though I had my reservations, I knew I couldn't stop you. Honestly, I didn't even want to stop you, despite my fears."

"I see… thanks, Anna."

"Don't thank me. You're the one who pulled that crazy nonsense off."

"Haha. I guess I did, didn't I?"

"You bet. Now, get your tail back here so we can celebrate with average-quality hotel snacks and drinks."

"I'll do that."

"Oh, but first, before you hang up, one more thing."

Robin listened and heard the phone scrape on something.

A different voice came through the phone. "I'm glad you're okay, Boss."

"Me too, Morgan. Me too. How'd your research go?"

"Pretty good. I researched as long as I could, but Ms. Anna told me to 'give it a rest before I burned out my retinas.' I told her I was fine, but then I realized I was addressing a coat-hanger with her blazer on it."

"Sounds like you've been working hard. Take a break, and we can all chat when I get back, okay?"

"You got it, Boss."

Robin hung up and started his car's ignition.

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Investigation Day 2 – End]


	20. Turnabout in the Tower: Trial Day 2

[November 8th, 8:50 am, Ereb District Court – Defense Lobby]

Robin's eyes were glazed over, staring into the pale white walls of the defense lobby. His heart still hadn't quite returned to its pre-arresting-a-murderous-foreign-agent rhythm. It didn't help that he couldn't so much as breathe a word about his involvement in that affair, or even vaguely hint that he knew anything about it. He couldn't even inquire into the arrest itself, because if he did, it would become rather immediately apparent that he knew something about it. So, all night and into the morning, he had sat and waited for news. He wouldn't be denied much longer. He shivered a little: the air in the lobby had gotten too cold for his tastes.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face it. Anna was shoving a mug of coffee in his face. "Here. Drink."

"I'm not big on coffee, Anna," he said.

"I know that, but you look a mess."

"Thanks for the confidence boost."

"If not for your sake, then for your client's. Take a sip, and try to calm down a bit."

Robin thought about saying something in protest, but then he thought better and complied with Anna's advice. The hot coffee burned his tongue and throat. It tasted of hollow bitterness and nothing else. "Thanks," Robin said, handing the mug back to her.

"Well, we know about the extra evidence that we got," said Morgan, "but do you think Mr. Ephraim found anything more?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Robin answered. "Ephraim's every bit as determined to win this trial as I am. He'll definitely have dug into anything that he still considers worth questioning at this point. I'm sure he intends to end this trial today."

"Today, huh? And what are _you_ planning?" asked Anna.

"It depends on how well things go in there. A swifter end to these things is always good, but… I've never had a case that made me feel so uneasy. Any time I step inside that courtroom, I have no idea how things are going to go. I've just been trying to keep up so far."

"Say things go in your favor," Anna went on, "What's your endgame? Who are you going to indict under the SCC?"

"Last trial," said Robin, thinking back, "we ended with the deduction that someone could have been lying in wait in Fado's room and shot him, then hid again when Shinon emerged to arrest Renault. Ostensibly, if we can prove that that situation occurred, we would indict whoever was hiding there. Trouble is, according to the information I got from Shinon, there could have been two parties involved in this operation."

"So we have to find out which one is guilty, and which is the accomplice," Morgan determined.

"More than that, well… it's just speculation, but… We'll need to discern a motive for the guilty party to make a convincing indictment. In that case, why would someone have hatched such a convoluted plan to kill Fado? Why not just catch him alone somewhere?"

"Good point." Anna tilted her head to the side. "I hope you've got some idea, because I've got nothing."

"Coming up empty here, too," reported Morgan.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said their employer.

From behind his back, Robin heard the bailiff: "Mr. LeBlanc, the trial will be resuming shortly. Please enter the courtroom."

The three of them did so, uncertainty still hanging about the air like a dull and odorless smoke.

[November 8th, 9:03 am, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

The court was a bit noisy as the defense team assumed its position behind the bench, but, strangely, not as noisy as in the previous trial, perhaps because those in the gallery were now more interested in actually hearing the facts from both counsels, rather than their own wild speculations and rumors on the matter. Whatever, the case, it didn't seem to be affecting Ephraim, whose gaze was miles away. He didn't even pause to glare contemptuously at Robin, which the young attorney felt was an interesting development. When the judge finally called the court to order, however, it became clear what was on the prosecutor's mind.

"Court will now reconvene for the trial of Renault Desombres. Are both counsels prepared?" said the judge.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," Robin said, surprised that he had managed to speak first.

"The prosecution is also ready," said Ephraim, no emotion in his voice.

"Very good." The judge nodded and put on a pair of reading glasses to examine the briefs scattered before him. "When we left off, I instructed both parties to further investigate the matter at hand, due to a number of unresolvable inconsistencies in the explanations provided by both counsels during arguments. I hope you have equipped yourselves with the information necessary to bring the proceedings to a close today."

_So, the judge has it in his head that we'll be wrapping up today, too, huh?_

"Indeed," said Ephraim, "to that end, Your Honor, I must inform the court of a matter that was brought to my attention in the intervening period between this and the previous trial session. New information has been made available to me, and, at this point, after extensive consultation with the Plegian authorities, I must officially change the prosecution's position on this issue. The prosecution no longer intends to charge the defendant, Renault Desombres, with first-degree murder.

"Really?" The judge leaned forward. "And what prompted this change, exactly?"

"As it turns out, the defense's arguments in the previous trial were not far off the mark. The behavior of the defendant was too odd to have been purely a result of his own movements—timing and evidence fail to support a reasonable case for concluding that Mr. Desombres committed the murder. Instead, I searched for additional leads to determine alternative possibilities, and then, late last night, the Ereb Police Department gave me and everyone in this court a gift: the arrest and subsequent sworn testimony of a man named Caellach Broduin."

Murmurs resounded through the court. A few voices began explaining the significance of the name to others, who listened with great interest. Robin stared forward and tried not to give anything away.

"And what did this Mr. Broduin reveal to you, exactly?" asked the judge.

Ephraim's face finally changed into a smirk. That served to immediately make Robin less comfortable. "I spoke with Mr. Shinon Tisamo yesterday, as well, and he provided me with a ledger for the individuals who rented the room prior to the murder. One of the last guests on that registry was called 'Callum Tigris.' To anyone else, that name would have been meaningless, but thanks to my associates in the Plegian government, I learned that the man was a disavowed former Plegian agent—and that his real name, as opposed to that code name, was Caellach Broduin. In other words, the recent arrestee was none other than the single most wanted remaining suspect in this case. His arrest was nothing short of a genuine miracle. After the news spread to me that he had been captured, I came to the detention center and interrogated him about the events of the night of the crime, and received a deposition explaining the truth of the situation, which I then passed on to the Plegian government, prompting this change."

The defense team absorbed Ephraim's account in silence.

"How about that?" Anna whispered to Robin, "'A genuine miracle.' Looks like this might not go on for too long after all."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Robin, folding his arms, "I don't like the expression on Ephraim's face. If this was what it sounded like, I think he'd look a lot more… defeated."

"That is why," Ephraim announced to the court, "the prosecution will now call forth Mr. Broduin to testify on the matter. To tell the court that Renault Desombres was not, in fact, the murder… but rather, the mastermind of an assassination plot gone awry!"

"What?!" Robin started. The gallery filled with similar exclamations of disbelief and excitement.

The judge quieted the court with his gavel. "Order! I will have order! Please bring your witness forward with all due haste, Prosecutor Verlaine."

"Of course, Your Honor," he replied. He snapped his fingers sharply, and the broad-shouldered monstrosity of a man Robin had run into the previous evening was brought to the witness stand. For a moment, Robin feared his foe might recognize him, but then he recalled that Matthew had wisely blindfolded him before he had any opportunity to see his second assailant. His secret remained safe for now. Across the bench, Anna was looking back and forth between the attorney and the new witness with incredulity.

"Now, please state your name—"

"Objection!" The court turned to face Robin. "J-Just a moment! This isn't right! If Prosecutor Verlaine is changing the charge against my client, then I need time to reevaluate my defense and prepare new evidence!"

"I'm sorry," said Ephraim, "time was of the essence in compiling my own case. I would have afforded you greater notice if it were possible, but I was up to my ears in paperwork until this very morning."

"I'm afraid the paradigm of our unique situation is a narrow and constrained one," the judge continued, "the pressure from Plegian legal authorities to quickly put this case to rest is significant, and so I am afraid that absent a more compelling reason, I cannot suspend the trial any further."

"That's ridiculous!" Robin shouted.

"It is, but he isn't the one making the Rules, Mr. LeBlanc," said Ephraim, "Don't direct your ire at His Honor. Direct it at those who are influencing him."

"If you agree with me, then why are you letting this continue, Ephraim? There can't be any justice in a trial like this!"

"It is as His Honor said. We're in a difficult position right now, and the only thing that is certain is that this trial needs to be resolved quickly. Eyes from all over Ylisse and Plegia are watching these proceedings with great interest, and if anything stops a proper verdict from emerging, the consequences will be… severe."

"More severe than if a higher judge declared a mistrial?"

"Mr. LeBlanc, the provisional court you're currently standing in is the highest authority in the land on this issue, as decided by the attorneys general of both Ylisse and Plegia. The ruling of this court will be final."

Robin felt his heart sink past his stomach and down into his feet. His entire body quaked with cold. "S-So… you're saying I have no choice?"

"I'm saying you can continue on, or you can risk the political stability of two entire nations. That is your choice."

 _Like I said._ Robin shook his head. "Under those circumstances… of course I'll continue with the trial. I'll continue to do everything in my power to prevent Renault Desombres from being declared guilty, and to find the true architect of this murder."

"Very sensible, Mr. LeBlanc," said Ephraim, folding his arms. To Robin's surprise, he didn't look pleased.

"We will proceed with the testimony as planned, then," said the judge, "Prosecutor Verlaine, if you would."

"Of course, Your Honor. Witness, state your name and occupation for the court."

"I'm Caellach Broduin," he growled, "former Plegian agent and Director of Special Police Operations. In my day, they used to call me the Tiger Eye."

"Mr. Broduin, please tell the court if you've had any contact with Mr. Renault Desombres."

"So this is the court they've dropped me into, huh? This judge… this defense attorney… heh heh ha! What a couple'a schlubs! I've picked bigger things than you outta my teeth!"

"Mr. Broduin," said the judge, "please conduct yourself in a manner befitting the courtroom."

"Shut the hell up. You tell me what to do, and I'll snap your aging spine like a twig." The judge shrank a bit in his seat and said nothing.

"Mr. Broduin!" Ephraim hissed.

"And that goes double for you, defense guy!" Caellach shouted, "By looks alone, I can tell you're the weaselly type who woulda pissed me off in my law enforcement days. Make any stupid comments, and I'll rip your throat right out!"

The court stared in stunned silence. "'Weaselly?'" Robin whispered.

"Is that _really_ your biggest problem with what he just said?" Anna glared at him.

"U-Um… right, well… let's, er… just begin with the testimony… uh, shall we?" said the judge, seeming to shrink ever further into his seat.

"Indeed. Mr. Broduin," said Eprhaim, eyes just as fierce as those of his witness, "answer my question. Testify to the court and let's be done with this."

"Fine," he snorted like a rhino. "I was contacted over the phone by Renault Desombres a little over a week before the murder. He had some contacts in the less reputable parts of Plegia, and knew that I was working as an assassin-for-hire. He paid me half a million Ylissean dollars to put Fado Verlaine in the ground, and make sure it didn't come back on him. He told me his plan, and I gave him mine from there: he and Fado went to the cantina, just like he'd planned. The previous day, I came in with an associate and rented the room. Later, I had my associate leave and pay for the food and the rental fee, claiming that I'd skipped out on him. In reality, I hid up in the rafters of the room, waiting for my chance. When those two finally entered, I waited a bit longer to ease suspicion off of Renault, and then I shot Fado. After that, I fled the scene."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?"

"Right away, Your Honor. Mr. Broduin, you said Mr. Desombres paid you to kill Fado?"

"Yeah, what are ya, deaf?"

"And to, I'm quoting here, 'make sure it didn't come back on him?' As in, don't make it look like he was guilty?"

"Yeah… what aren't ya getting, dumbass?"

"I'm not getting how shooting Fado when only he and Renault were ostensibly in the room keeps Renault from getting suspected."

"Ah, that. Well, see, the plan was for both of us to split at about the same time, and for Renault to fudge a story about how the assassin had bowled him over running out of the place. When the moment came, though, Renault just sorta froze up. Shock, I guess. Happens a lot to stupid people who don't realize what death is like. Anyway, I wasn't about to take the rap, so I just left. Whatever happened after that is the old bastard's fault."

"I see. Now, did you ever actually meet face-to-face with Renault Desombres prior to the murder?"

"Nope. He didn't want me knowin' his face until after the deed was done, which was fine by me."

"That goes to my next point: how did you know which of the men in the room was Renault, and which was Fado?"

"That's easy: we had a signal planned. Eventually, one of the players would draw a tarot card instead of a regular Ylissean card—the Emperor card. That's when I'd take my shot."

Ephraim gestured to the court. "This explains your previous confusion about the swapping around of that card, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _I suppose it does. That said, I'm still curious…_ "For clarity's sake, Mr. Broduin, you say the card was your signal, but what kind of a signal was it? That is, was it a signal to shoot the person _with_ the card, or _without_ it?"

"The person without the card would be the target. The design of the card makes it easy to see, and Renault said he rigged the deck so that he'd be guaranteed to draw it when the time came, so all I had to do was wait to see whose hands it ended up in, and then take the shot at the other guy."

Ephraim grimaced at his witness. When he noticed, Caellach looked around and saw similar upset looks around the courtroom. "The hell are you all lookin' at? Yeah, I kill people. Whaddya want?"

"That's not it, you dunce…!" Ephraim growled.

"Mr. Broduin," said Robin, "You just said something a bit odd: you said the person _not_ holding the tarot card was going to be your target, and yet, if you look at the court record, you'll see that by the end of the incident the _victim_ was the one holding the card, not the defendant."

"O-Oh?!"

"Objection!" Ephraim claimed the court's attention straight away. "Slow down, Mr. LeBlanc. We spent a whole trial the other day with you speculating that someone could've moved that card after the murder took place. Surely you're not about to deny that possibility?"

"W-Well, I suppose I can't exactly disprove it, but… if we assume Mr. Broduin was in hiding in the same room as the defendant and victim, and that he fled immediately after committing the crime, why would he have wasted time switching the cards around before he fled?"

"W-Wait!" Caellach interjected, "Th-That's right! I forgot. I did change the cards around. It's standard practice—to hide my client's signals. I stuffed the card in the old geezer's hand thinking nobody would ever take a look at it. Th-There, that's simple enough, right?"

Ephraim folded his arms and shook his head. "Well, there you go, Mr. LeBlanc. Anything to say to that?"

"But still, even if it were standard practice, the situation you described must have been exceptional, right? You said Renault was in a state of shock, so you had to just cut and run, right? Under those circumstances, why would you have bothered messing around with the evidence?"

"Force of habit, mostly. You don't live long in my line of work if you don't know how to cover your tracks. Even if it wouldn't have helped Renault, it might've helped keep the heat off me. Of course, we know how well that turned out…"

"What do you think, Boss?" Morgan asked. "You did seem pretty convinced that someone moved that card around the other day. Is that really what happened?"

"I don't know," said Robin, "It seems plausible enough, but, at the same time, something has to be wrong here, because I don't believe for a second that Renault hired Caellach to kill Fado for him. If it were as simple as that, why wouldn't he have made _that_ his confession, rather than the far less plausible story about doing it himself?"

"That _is_ weird…" Morgan agreed, scratching her head.

"Weird, definitely," Anna added, "but not insignificant, don'cha think?"

Robin smiled a little. "You thought the same thing I did, huh?"

"Well, hey, don't leave me out of the loop!" Morgan whined.

"Think about this," said Robin, "is there a way Caellach could be telling us the facts of Fado's murder, but still be lying about it as a whole?"

Morgan blinked. "Is that some kind of philosophical question?"

"Not exactly. How can I explain this…?"

Robin tried to think of the words, but a sudden sound interrupted him: his phone was vibrating. He glanced around the court to be sure nobody was glaring at him for checking his phone in the middle of work and took a glance at the screen. On it were only a few words, but they filled Robin with hope:

"Keep going as long as you can. Bringing you some evidence. -HL"

Robin felt his heart stir. No matter what he did, he absolutely could not let this trial grind to a halt when so many other people were working with him. He was going to solve this whole thing, and he was going to do it in this one final trial, with any luck.

"Boss?" Morgan looked at him curiously. "You seem so… resolute all of a sudden."

"Prosecutor Verlaine!" Robin jabbed his index finger out at his opponent like it was a finely honed blade, "The whole truth of this murder is going to come to light today, do you hear me? I'm not going to rest for a moment until we know what really happened!"

"I can hear you just fine, there's no need to shout," Ephraim replied, "Now, rather than waste my time with pomposity, let's see you back up those claims, Mr. LeBlanc. Right now the story is that the witness switched the cards as a matter of professional courtesy following a successful assassination, after which the defendant was rightly arrested. Do you have anything to dispute those facts?"

Robin shook his head. "I don't, but your witness does. He's about to tell me everything I need to know."

"I already told you everything you're gonna hear, shithead," Caellach barked at him. "If you've got somethin' to say, say it now. If it's stupid, I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck."

Robin flinched.

He felt Anna's hand land on his back. "Come on. No time to be scared now. This is for Fado."

"Right." Robin clenched his hand into a fist. "For Fado… and for me." He looked back up at the witness, his eyes newly iced over. "Mr. Broduin, I just have one simple question for you: what was the price of the food and drinks you ordered while in the rented room?"

Caellach scoffed. "All that posturing, and that's what you came up with? What, d'ya think you're gonna catch me off-guard or somethin'? It was forty-five riyal, or about twelve Ylissean dollars. We both had a drink. Now, that was pretty stupid, don't ya think? Are you just askin' to get choked out? 'Cause I'll happily oblige."

Ephraim was glaring at his witness, as was Robin.

He screwed his face up. "The hell? You're both givin' me that dumbass look again. What's this about now?"

Robin slapped his hands on his desk. "The defense asserts that the witness was never in the Blazing Stones Cantina at the same time as Fado Verlaine!"

"Wh-What?!" Caellach started, "The hell're you talkin' about?! I just got done tellin' ya—"

"—the exact price of the beverages you drank. Which you never paid for, according to your own words."

"H-Huh…?"

"Just a few minutes ago, you told this court that as part of a ruse, you entered the cantina with an associate, rented the room, and then had the associate foot the bill, pretending that you'd skipped out on him, when you were really hiding in the rafters. If that were true, how did you know the price of the drinks that you never paid for?"

"Sh-Shit, I dunno… It musta been on the menu, or something… or… maybe my associate invoiced me later. Yeah! That was probably it. Stingy bastard."

"All right, then let me ask you one more question, something that should be easy for anyone who saw Fado that day. Even if they didn't see it that day, the evidence has been sitting in the cantina ever since…"

"Quit actin' high-an'-mighty and just spit it out!"

"What was Fado Verlaine wearing on his head that day in the cantina?"

"What…? On his head…?"

"That's right. Come on, anyone who saw the scene should know."

"I… urgh… say, uh, prosecutor guy…"

"Don't look at me." Ephraim's scowl was deeper than a canyon. "Sort out your own mess."

"O-Okay… yeah…" Caellach's eyes searched the room. "On his head… yeah… his head… it was… he was… He was wearing a c-circlet. Y'know, like those other Plegian officials do?" Sweat started to gather around Caellach's head.

The court fell silent again. "The correct answer is 'nothing,'" said Robin.

Caellach's eyes shrank.

Robin slammed his hands on his desk with even more fervor than before. "Your Honor! The witness's testimony and repeated failure to recall any of the facts of the situation as someone present at the scene would've been able to recall them is clear evidence that the witness was never at the scene! Caellach Broduin's supposed presence at the scene has been nothing but a fabrication from the beginning!"

"Sh-Shut the hell up, you!" Caellach fumed, "Ya think you're big?! I'm gonna break every bone in your body!"

"Not in here, you're not," said Robin, eyes daring his adversary to try, "because you know what will happen if you do."

"H-Huh?"

"You're not going to attack me here, because that would displease somebody watching right now… and that would put you in grave danger, wouldn't it?"

"W-W-What? I don't got… a clue what you're… on about." Caellach's face grew paler.

"Some Tiger Eye you are," Robin scoffed, "you're nothing more than a dog on a leash!"

"Scum-sucking little…!" Caellach steamed.

"Your Honor," Robin called out, "this witness is clearly guilty of perjury, and he has no useful or reliable information for us at this point. I move that he be dismissed immediately."

"You just wait 'til I get my hands on you…!"

"No objections," Robin heard Eprhaim say. He looked over and found the prosecutor shrugging. "I have no use for deceptive filth in a hallowed sanctum of truth."

"Y-You too?!" Caellach stammered, "Hey, this ain't right! You're supposed to back me up!"

"I'm supposed to find out what happened in this case and punish the person responsible," Ephraim corrected him. "Clearly, your goals and mine run counter to one another. That means you're worthless to me. So get lost, before I move you myself."

"Th-This… this can't be happening…! If you throw me out, then they'll—urk!" Caellach's head whipped furiously about the room, seeking any refuge he could find. "P-Please! Don't do this to me! I-I-I just need… let me say… one more…"

The sound of the judge's gavel rang out. "I think we've heard more than enough out of you, Mr. Broduin."

 _Nice of you to rejoin us, Your Honor_.

"If both counsels wish the witness removed, then I see no reason to deny their request. Mr. Broduin, you are hereby dismissed."

"W-Wait a sec!" Caellach pleaded as the bailiff approached him and began to drag him away, "Stop! Please! I killed the guy, okay?! Me! You have to listen to me! Don't take me awa-a-y!"

Amid copious courtroom chatter, Caellach Broduin was taken out of the court. When things had quieted back down, the room was once again populated solely by both counsels, the judge, the jury, and all the people bearing witness to the trial.

The judge cleared his throat. "Well, this is quite the development. In all my years, I can't say I've encountered any situation quite as bizarre as this one. Right now, we are left with little more than a witness who did not see the crime occur, and a defendant with a provably false confession. I turn this to you, Mr. LeBlanc, Mr. Verlaine, what do you intend to do now?"

"The ball will stay in your court, LeBlanc," said Ephraim, "You have the burden of proving the murderer's true identity under the SCC, so I'll let you decide what you want to do next."

"Thank you, Prosecutor Verlaine," Robin said, nodding in deference. "While most of what Mr. Broduin told us appears to have been a sham, I don't think it was pure nonsense. I believe at least one thing that he told us was absolutely true: he had an 'associate' with him on this endeavor."

"I see," Ephraim said knowingly, "so you intend to go after this 'associate,' eh?"

"There's really no other option. If Renault isn't guilty, there must have been someone else on the scene, and if that's the case, then there's only one person left who could logically fill that role."

"Very well. However, that individual was never capture by the police, so his identity is unknown to us, unlike that of Mr. Broduin. Moreover, shifting blame to this other individual does not constitute proof of a lack of conspiracy on the part of Renault Desombres. Knowing both of those things, do you still intend to go down this path, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Without hesitation."

"Spoken with genuine conviction, for once. I'm almost impressed. But tell me, then, what will you do? If this person's identity is unknown, we cannot proceed. Unless, perhaps, you have some evidence that reveals their identity?"

"I'm… afraid I don't. Not at this time, anyway."

"Then we're in a tough spot. I won't condemn my father to the hell of unsolved cases. I want a proper verdict. Even if we were to adjourn for today, we only have one more day's worth of trial before we have to have a decision. Moreover, you seemed fairly confident that you'd solve every mystery today, Mr. LeBlanc. Were you making empty promises yet again?"

"No, I just need… a moment, maybe. A lead… I just have to see about one thing…"

"I suppose we could just wait here and glare at each other until the sun sets, but I don't think the other folks in the courtroom would take too kindly to that. As such, I'd suggest we find a real solution."

"To that end…" Robin and Ephraim turned around, as did everyone in the court, seeing the doors slowly swinging closed and a figure emerging from them. "I have some evidence that requires this court's attention."

Robin couldn't help but smile. Across the room, a blonde woman sauntered forward, throwing her hips with the confidence of a woman who had gotten exactly what she wanted. This figure was none other than Heather Luxberg. She was wearing a long coat and a policeman's hat on her head in a manner that made it rather strikingly clear that this was a costume. She presented what was undeniably a real badge, however, as she neared the judge's bench. Robin wondered for a moment if she hadn't just used this as an occasion to dress up.

"Detective Hannah Lee with the Plegian Investigative Internal Affairs Group," said Heather Luxberg, holding out her credentials.

"Ho ho." The judge looked at the new arrival with great interest. "Cases always get more interesting when the PIIAGs show up."

"I don't remember you from the investigation team," said Ephraim, scanning every detail of her body.

"That's because I wasn't around for you to see, silly boy," Heather replied, "The 'internal' part of my team's title means we look for things between the lines of the paperwork, and it means we stay out of sight for the original investigations. We only get called in when there's a problem, and, if I'm not mistaken, you two are up a creek right now."

"You could say that," said Ephraim, "so, go on. You obviously have a point, so say it."

"Well, as I'm sure you all know by now, there were two names on the ledger held by Shinon Tisamo: 'Callum Tigris' and 'Otto Feldspar.' You may also know that those were codenames used by two Plegian agents acting in concert."

"Former Plegian agents," said Ephraim, "or so I was told."

"Right. Well, here's the important bit: our internal investigation turned up the real identity of 'Otto Feldspar,' and, as such, he's been arrested and brought in for questioning. I present him to you now, a personal gift from me to the hardworking attorneys looking to solve this case."

"I-I see…" Ephraim stammered, eyes boring a hole right through Heather, "So, who is it? Who is this man?"

"I'll let him tell you himself, Prosecutor Verlaine," Heather replied, "after all, you're going to need to interview him as your witness."

Ephraim's eyes retracted into his skull; he'd been completely distracted. "I-Indeed! Your Honor, I request immediate leave to prepare the witness!"

"I think that is best for advancing this trial," said the judge, nodding. "Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"No, Your Honor," said Robin, "I'm every bit as interested as everyone else to see how this turns out."

"Very well." The judge's gavel rang out through the court. "This court will now enter a thirty-minute recess. In that time, both counsels should prepare to question the witness known as 'Otto Feldspar.' As our list of suspects runs low, it seems clear that something decisive will come from his testimony."

Robin considered the judge's words carefully as he joined the others in their procession out of the courtroom.

[November 8th, 11:41 am, Ereb District Court – Defense Lobby]

As soon as Robin sat down in the defense lobby, Heather was across from him. She doffed her hat and gave him a confident smirk. "Well now, happy to see me?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Robin didn't so much say as exhale.

She laughed. "It's only fair play. You've done a helluva job holding up your end of the bargain so far. Close enough to taste it, aren't we?"

"Maybe, especially now that we can have a word with our last ghost."

"You're the blondie from that one trial," Anna said, pointing her finger at Heather, "the Heron one. And you were the one who dropped off that photo, too, now that I think about it."

"That's right, sister," said Heather, "I'm more than a pretty face. I wear more than my fair share of hats, both literally…" She tapped her police hat. "…And figuratively."

"I see that," said Anna, "you're pretty impressive."

"Heh. Buttering me up will get you nowhere." Her smile gave away that she enjoyed the praise.

"Let's talk business, if we can," said Robin.

"Right." Heather settled down, and her face became sterner. "You already know that Otto Feldspar is actually Valter Mani, Plegian agent, world-class freak, and murderous trash in human clothing."

"Objectively speaking."

"Yep. What you might not know is that the guy has been in Plegia's employ for a while. And I mean a _while_. They don't exactly keep a lot of records around, but there's enough out there to suggest that he's been at it for over two decades."

"That long? Either he's pretty old, or they recruited him when he was still surprisingly young."

"I couldn't tell you which. All the personal information on these guys is heavily guarded. There's one thing you can be sure of, though, Robin: this murder wasn't a spur-of-the-moment deal. Someone planned this whole thing out. The evidence you've gathered so far clearly points to that much."

"But we still don't know who planned it," said Morgan, "Mr. Broduin said it was Mr. Desombres, but that can't be right…"

"And Valter will probably make up a similar lie. That's the final truth you have to dig at, Robin: you have to figure out who put a hit on Fado. That's the only conclusion that we can't quite find. And you have to convince the court that someone had Fado assassinated, it just wasn't Renault Desombres."

"How am I going to do that? I can provide lots of circumstantial evidence that suggests an assassination, but, ultimately, without any other known elements…"

Heather shrugged. "Sorry, but that's gotta be your job. Helping a court reach legal conclusions is outside my purview."

"Then I'll just have to figure something out," said Robin, looking at the floor.

"You always do," Anna noted.

He inhaled. "Well, the first thing is to make it clear that Valter was the one who killed Fado. Once that's made certain, then we have to prove that he was hired to do it. If we get past that, then there has to be _something_ that links Valter to whoever his employer is. Some connection that we just haven't seen yet. Proof like that isn't easy to come by, but it has to be waiting for us somewhere in the evidence. We're so close to understanding what really happened, we just need to tie a few more threads together…!"

"It's probably a good idea to go over things from the start again," Morgan said, "When you learn more about a case, little things that seemed silly might start to mean something. You know, like that chunk of wood we found. If not for that, we would've never guessed that the killer was hiding in the rafters."

Robin patted Morgan's head. "You're a smart kid, Morgan. We'll do just that."

Heather bowed her head to them before placing her hat back on her head. "Best of luck to you all. I have to go—don't want too many people seeing my face. This is all I can do for you, Robin. I have faith that you'll take care of the rest."

"Thank you," he said, "having your confidence makes me feel a little better."

"Knock 'em dead, and make 'em pay." She took off.

Robin took a deep breath and opened his folder full of evidence.

[November 8th, 12:12 pm, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

The judge's gavel sounded out again. "Court will now reconvene for the trial of Renault Desombres. Are both counsels prepared to begin?"

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," said Ephraim. His expression was curious. To Robin, it looked like his jaw was clenched unnaturally.

"The defense is also ready," said Robin.

"Then let us not delay. Prosecutor Verlaine, will you bring the witness forward?"

"Of course," said Ephraim. "The prosecution calls Valter Mani to the stand."

Following the command, a broad-shouldered man was brought to the front of the court. He had long, stringy, pale blue hair, sickly pale skin, and sunken-in eyes that were devoid of color and expression. He wore a full suit with a lavender shirt and tie.

"State your name and occupation for the record," Ephraim demanded.

"My name," the witness answered in a wispy voice, "Is Valter Mani. I am a former employee of the Plegian Security Detail. Currently, I am not employed in any… legal capacity." Those last words were delivered with a strange giddiness, like they gave the witness much glee to report.

"Is everything okay, Boss?" Morgan saw her employer wincing.

"Yeah, I'm fine… something about that voice of his gives me the chills. It's like I heard it in a nightmare, or something," Robin answered.

Ephraim went on: "Will you tell the court what you were doing on November third with Caellach Broduin? And what you did on the evening of November fourth?"

"Of course." Fado smiled to the court. Robin felt a stiff chill blow through his chest. "On November third… I rented out a room in the Blazing Stones Cantina, along with Caellach Broduin. After a few hours, I ordered him to leave and pay the bill, pretending that I'd fled and left him with the bill."

 _That's all the same as Caellach's story so far, just with the roles reversed_.

"Then… I lied in wait for the following day, when Fado Verlaine and Renault Desombres entered the room. They sat down, and I aimed my weapon. When all was said and done… I shot Fado twice: once in the chest, and once in the head."

 _Still no changes_. _Except that he didn't mention anything about Renault…_

"Another confession," the judge said thoughtfully, "What do we make of it this time?"

"Ask Mr. LeBlanc," said Ephraim. "My case is settled."

Robin looked at Ephraim again, finding his voice suddenly very curt and dry. Ephraim was no longer meeting his gaze. "I'd… still like to cross-examine the witness, if I might, Your Honor."

"Naturally. Do go on."

"Mr. Mani… you've confessed to the murder of Fado Verlaine, but… your companion, Caellach Broduin, did the same thing, only he told us he was employed by Renault Desombres. Is that what you're claiming as well?"

"Heavens, no," said Valter. "It was me. _Sua sponte_. I was the killer—me and only me. Renault Desombres had nothing to do with it."

The court was silent for a moment, then filled with whispers. The judge had to demand silence.

"Y-You're… confessing, but not claiming conspiracy on Mr. Desombres's part?" Robin said shakily, trying to work out what was happening.

"That's right." Valter lifted his hands in front of his body in a way that made him look like a shambling zombie. "I'll surrender myself to police custody posthaste. There is nothing more to say."

The judge blinked, surveying the courtroom. "Well… based on Mr. Mani's remarks… it would appear that he is correct. There isn't much else to say… what a strange trial this has been. To see it end with such a confession feels a bit abrupt, but, with such a curious situation, I suppose it's merely par for the course. If there are no objections, I will confer with the jury in order to bring about a verdict."

"The prosecution… rests," said Ephraim.

"Mr. LeBlanc?" The judge looked over at the attorney.

Robin's hands were shaking. This was the end. The murderer had confessed, and he hadn't even tried to bring in his client. Robin's defense was finished. There was absolutely nothing left he needed to prove in order to set his client free.

It felt utterly wrong.

Robin thought about what Heather had told him, about the nagging doubts that had plagued him throughout the whole case, about Ephraim's strange behavior, about his own thoughts, ideas, conspiracies… everything seemed to swarm into his head at once such that it hurt to even think.

"Mr. LeBlanc?" The judge reiterated.

Robin saw Fado on the other side of the courtroom. Then, that mirage disappeared, and Ephraim was looking back at him. His eyes were wounded. For as long as they'd battled in court, Ephraim's eyes had never looked wounded to Robin.

"Your Honor," said Robin, "the defense… objects to this confession!"

"Wh-What?!" the judge started.

The pain disappeared from Ephraim's eyes.

"What did you say?" One of Valter's eyes bulged.

"I said the defense objects. Mr. Mani, your associate lied to us, too, and I won't have this court hear anything but the absolute truth."

"Why can't you leave well enough alone, you imbecile?" Valter railed. "I've given you all you need to end this trial. What I've said _is_ the truth, so just let this be the end!"

"I want to know something," Robin answered, "Mr. Mani, if you murdered Fado Verlaine, but didn't do it on anyone's orders, then… why did you do it?"

"What does that matter?"

"If you're so eager to surrender yourself, you should be willing to communicate everything the police and future prosecution need in order to convict you. Motive is one of those things, so, tell us, why did you kill Fado Verlaine?"

"Tch. If you must know, I knew of his work in the Ylissean and Plegian legal fields. I wanted his influence kept out of our courts. To do that, I chose to kill him."

"And that was it? To keep him from changing the court systems?"

"Yes. Satisfied?"

"Not yet. If that was the case, why kill him with a witness present? Why not attack when he was alone? It wasn't out of convenience, because you already told us you planned to be there."

"No, I needed someone there to take the fall. I couldn't have people looking for me."

"And yet, here you are, willfully confessing before a court when you could just as easily have stayed hidden, or alleged conspiracy, like Caellach. Why didn't you do that?"

"My capture by the PIIAG made hiding impossible. Once that happened, I supposed that confessing the truth would leave me in the least amount of trouble."

"That doesn't make sense. There's no 'least trouble' in this scenario. Murder in the first degree and conspiracy to commit the same carry the same sentence: death."

"I hoped to beg leniency in my own trial. To petition the court for life imprisonment. Pretending that I was a contract killer rather than a self-motivated violent political activist would have run contrary to that purpose."

"What about the cards that were used as a signal?"

"What cards? I don't know anything about cards."

"Fado Verlaine was holding onto a tarot card instead of a Ylissean one, like the rest of the deck he and Renault were using."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Why did you shoot Fado twice?"

"My first shot missed slightly. He might've died from the injuries, but I had to make sure."

"Why didn't Renault testify against you if he was really an unrelated party?"

"How should I know? Maybe he's gone senile. I never saw him once after I left the cantina."

"If you didn't want anyone to come after you, why did you leave your codename in the ledger instead of a pseudonym?"

"I didn't think anyone would recognize it. I sometimes provide that name in lieu of my own for privacy reasons, and it's an easy one to remember if someone calls me by it or challenges me to repeat it. If I used a pseudonym, someone might have noticed and become suspicious."

Robin grit his teeth.

"Whoa, catch your breath, there," Anna said. "You're firing questions like mad."

"Th-There has to be something…" Robin panted, "We're this close, but he keeps denying everything… something's not right. It just doesn't make sense."

"Calm down and regroup a little. There must be a smarter way to do this. Didn't you find any evidence that would sort this out?"

"I tried… I looked at it all, over and over, and everything that gets us to this point is solid, but I can't prove who he's working for. I have some loose ideas, but none of it is enough. D-Dammit!"

"Are we through with this tiresome exercise?" asked Valter. "I've already had a terribly long day. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to delay my own legal proceedings any longer."

"It seems Mr. Mani has answered all your questions to a satisfactory degree, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge. "If you have nothing further, I think I am prepared to use my discretion and call these proceedings to a close."

_Anything… no… I have nothing else. All the evidence I've looked at, none of it can really help me prove it. He must have been hired by someone to kill Fado, but there's just no way for me to prove it. This is…where it ends, isn't it? Fado… I'm sorry, I wasn't quite good enough._

"Just a damn minute."

Everyone in the court turned their heads toward the prosecution's bench. Ephraim's eyes were on fire, and his fists were clenched white, resting on his desk. "Prosecutor Verlaine?" The judge looked at him inquisitively.

"This 'confession…' this 'truth…' It's a sham! It's disgraceful! And I'm not going to allow it for another second!"

"A-Again?!" shouted the judge.

"You…!" Valter's eyes narrowed at the prosecutor.

"Pray forgive me," said Ephraim, "I was pressured into silence. I thought for my safety, for the safety of those dear to me, and that concern turned into fear. That fear then became indifference… indifference to the truth, and to law. But I'm throwing that feeling away now! This trial… these facts… everything has been gnawing at my very core from the beginning. All along, I sensed something was wrong, and I have you to thank for it… Robin LeBlanc."

"M-Me?"

"These nagging doubts you saddled me with… I despised you for them at first. I hated that you could make me question the purity of my own justice, but, then, I realized… this is the true essence of my father's teachings. Personal stakes and goals mean nothing… there is only what is true and what is not. Though we may be adversaries, our mission is a common one: to reveal the truth by argument. It's not compromising my vision if… if I find myself… agreeing with you. Our duty binds us to take separate sides, but it does not prevent us from reaching the same conclusion."

"Is there a point to your insufferable rambling?" asked Valter.

"You know damn well there is, you cretin." Ephraim's glare punctured the witness's lung. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, in the time I spent interviewing Valter Mani, something happened that has never happened to me for as long as I have been a prosecutor."

"You wouldn't _dare_ …!"

"I received a call from a man in the employ of the Plegian Special Operations Bureau. He informed me that Valter Mani was a person of interest to them, and that I was to allow Mr. Mani to make his confession to the court and rest my case there. Moreover, I was told to keep all this information to myself. All this… under threat of death."

"D-Death?" Robin started. "Why so severe?"

"The conclusion is obvious: if Valter Mani was a person of interest for the PSOB, he would have been monitored at all times. If he truly did kill Fado Verlaine, and we can only assume that he did at this point, then he did so with the full knowledge and compliance of the Plegian government. That is why they desired a speedy end to this trial."

"You're kidding… so if someone hired Valter to commit this murder…"

"All the evidence indicates that that person was a member of the Plegian government, yes. And it's not a question of 'if.' All the evidence we have shown conclusively proves that Renault Desombres did not kill Fado Verlaine. Likewise, it conclusively proves that Caellach Broduin also did not commit the murder. A suicide or accident is impossible under the circumstances. Valter Mani is the only person who could have killed Fado… no, my father. Moreover, if this murder was not sanctioned by Valter's handlers in the PSOB, he would not be present before us today. The only logical conclusion is that someone within the Plegian government specifically contracted Valter Mani to murder Fado Verlaine. That is the truth of this case. It is the truth you knew all along, Mr. LeBlanc, but that I avoided to selfishly preserve my own self-righteousness. Well, no longer. There's the truth, all laid out for you."

"S-Stupid little bastard!" Valter hissed. "I'll kill you! I'll rip your heart out and eat it!"

"No threat of yours can frighten me anymore." Ephraim shook his head. "Mr. LeBlanc had the courage to continue pursuing justice and truth when he could have let them slip by for an easy victory. His commitment to principle inspired me."

"Ephraim…"

"Don't get the wrong idea," the prosecutor scoffed, "You're still a second-rate attorney at best. But you're not a coward, and for that, you have my respect."

"This case only grows ever stranger," said the judge, shaking his head. "What can we possibly do now?"

"One issue remains," said Ephraim, "uncovering the identity of the individual responsible for hiring Valter Mani, who we now know was the murderer of Fado Verlaine. Once that person's identity is known… then and only then will this case be truly resolved. Unfortunately, finding that out will likely require additional investigation, and time in this trial is running short. Also, given that I was issued a death threat, I don't think I can very well stick around. This trial will have to conclude in my absence, but I'll see to it that a suitable substitute takes my place."

"So… we will require an additional day of investigation, and one more day's worth of trial. The final matter to be decided will be the identity of Valter Mani's employer. Is that amenable to you, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Completely, Your Honor," said Robin, "No objections."

"Very well. In that case, I believe there is nothing left for me to do but to formally suspend this trial until November tenth, at a time to be determined later." The judge's gavel sounded, and the courtroom exploded in buzzing movement and speech.

[November 8th, 1:43 pm, Ereb District Court – Defense Lobby]

Robin stood face to face with Ephraim for the first time since their initial investigation. His face looked softer, or perhaps lighter in some way compared to then. He didn't look happy, but he did seem relieved. "I think I've said all I need to say," the prosecutor told Robin, "I was wrong. My fear of failure kept me from seeing reality. I don't want your forgiveness, but I hope you can understand."

"I can," Robin answered. "I'd be lying if I said finding the truth about what happened to Fado didn't bolster my efforts as well. We just started out on two separate sides of the debate. There's nothing more to it than that."

"Hm. There really isn't, is there? It seems so simplistic, to reduce it all to a binary, and yet… Well, anyway, we've wasted enough of today on philosophy. I'll have to take my leave shortly. I only regret that I can't help with the investigation any further."

"Don't worry about that. I've got plenty of good people who can help me."

"Perhaps that Detective Lee will be of some use?"

"Yeah, maybe…"

"I won't bother asking who she really is. I know now that you aren't lying to me, at the very least."

"Who she 'really is?'"

"You don't need to play dumb. I won't say anything."

"All right. But what about you? If the Plegian government is threatening your life, what are you going to do?"

"Same as you, I have people I can rely on at a time like this. They'll see me through."

"What about Eirika? Do you think they'll come after her?"

"It's a distinct possibility. I've got plans to keep her hidden, too. Don't distress yourself about it for now. Focus on winning the trial, all right? I'll never forgive you if you fail."

"Of that, I'm sure."

"And I'm equally sure you won't disappoint me. You haven't yet."

"Thank you, Ephraim. For everything."

Ephraim shook his head. "It's bizarre to hear that from an opponent. Knock it off."

"Fine. Are you absolutely sure you're going to be safe?"

"I am. I'm Ephraim Verlaine—I don't pick fights I can't win."

Without another word, Ephraim turned on his heel and left the courtroom.

"That guy sure leaves an impression," said Robin.

"You two should've kissed and gotten it over with," said Anna.

"Not dignifying that. He did something great for us, and I'm not gonna let him down."

"Spoken like a true lover."

"Could we be serious for one moment, here?"

Anna laughed. "Aw, c'mon. Someone's gotta bring things back down to earth when it gets all lofty around here. We're gonna spend all day investigating tomorrow, so we might as well get our kicks while we can."

"I guess… I don't know, all told, I just don't think I can really make fun of him. He's stubborn, rude, arrogant, and combative… but he's also a damn good prosecutor."

"I'm sure he thinks you've got your issues, too," Anna noted, "but we saw a little something different in him just now. We saw hope, for once. Hope that someone was really going to be able to get the justice he wants for Fado."

"Ephraim… I won't rest until I learn what really happened. I'm going to find out who's responsible, even if it kills me."

"…He had a cooler exit," said Morgan.

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Trial Day 2 – End]


	21. Turnabout in the Tower: Investigation Day 3

[November 9th, 7:16 am, Roncontra Hotel]

When Robin woke up that morning, he didn't feel the chill of the overworked air conditioner clinging to his skin. He didn't feel the stiffness or slowness that normally affected him when he usually got out of bed. Instead, he sprang right up and into the bathroom for a shower. By the time he was done, Anna and Morgan were up and milling about with the same energy. Anna had put on the news, which was discussing the recent trial, featuring an artist's rendering of Ephraim as he told the court what he'd been ordered to do.

Robin stroked back his still-wet hair as he watched Anna type feverishly on her laptop. "It's like we never left the office," he said to no one in particular.

"In a way, we didn't," said Anna. "All the essentials are still here."

Police sirens sounded off in the distance. Robin's attention diverted for a moment, and he looked out the window. Three sets of blue and red lights flashed in a line before an assembly of people holding signs. Robin couldn't make out their chants or what their signs said, but it was a good bet that it had something to do with the trial, especially what the news had just been reporting on.

There was a stirring within his chest, and, at the same time, an intense pressure, like the exhilaration of lifting a set of too-heavy weights above one's head. Or like jumping into a building just as a strike of lightning lands outside, and the sky cracks with thunder as the door slams shut. Things were coming to a head, and the world was sucking in its collective breath in anticipation.

"What's the plan of attack, Boss?" Morgan asked, pumping her fists like a boxer.

"There's only one thing left for us to do," he answered, "find out who exactly hired Valter Mani. Somehow, I doubt he'll give that information up willingly, so we'll have to figure it out on our own."

"But from the sound of it, that person is embedded in the Plegian government," said Morgan. "How are we going to figure out who it is if they've got all sorts of security and secrecy to hide them?"

"We'll just have to do it the old fashioned way: pure logical deduction."

"Eliminating the impossible," said Anna. "Good luck, you've got a helluva suspect list at that rate."

"Well, we won't be looking at every Plegian official one by one. We'll narrow our list down with the evidence we have, and then use whatever else we can find to reach our conclusion."

"It sounds easy when you put it that way," Morgan said with a smile.

"It won't be," said Anna.

"Nothing ever is," Robin finished. His phone buzzed, letting him know a text he'd sent very early had finally received a response. "For now, we've got a lead to follow up on. Come with me, Morgan."

"Right behind you, Boss."

"Don't forget, you're bringing lunch back with you this time!" Anna called after them. She frowned when she realized they probably hadn't heard her.

[November 9th, 9:12 am, Pablo Plaza]

Robin came face-to-face with Heather along the corner of the sidewalk. She was shrouded in the same cloak from when they had met at the bazaar the other day. This time, Robin was glad to not have to worry about the figure's intentions. He still double-checked that Morgan was right beside him anyway. "Thanks for meeting me again," Robin said.

"Sure," Heather answered him curtly. Her attention was elsewhere.

"Still hiding out, huh? You think someone's looking for you?"

"Of course they are. After what you and Ephraim pulled in yesterday's trial, the whole Plegian government is in a tailspin. There's protests sparking up in cities all across the country. People are demanding answers, and the Plegian government is demanding they shut up. You put a pretty big spotlight on yourself, not to mention anyone involved in those proceedings."

"I guess I did… heh heh, that doesn't do a lot of good for my nerves. That said, in some way, that level of scrutiny is kind of a benefit."

"Huh? In what world is that level of notoriety a good thing?"

"Well, I'm exploring some pretty dangerous topics. Stuff that the Plegian government might not want me to know. But now that people know who I am and what I'm doing, they'll be immediately suspicious if I'm to… 'disappear.'"

Heather snorted. "You're the only guy I know who could be so glib about the idea of his own assassination, Robin. I think that's what I like about you."

"I hope you'll still like me once this whole thing blows over," Robin said, "I'm certainly not making your job any easier."

"No, you're not. So, I guess it depends on how all this goes. If I end up wasting my time, I'm not going to be happy. Now, I assume you wanted me here for something."

"Yes, although, I'm still thinking my way through things. I know I'm most likely going to need your help with today's investigation, but I don't know exactly when I'll need it, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind tagging along a little."

"When I tail people, it's usually without their prior knowledge. I don't think it'd do your image much good to have a shady figure like me hanging around while you investigate. Plus, I can't afford to have too many people see my face."

"I guess that's true… Is there any way I could have you on-call? Like, if I find something that requires your attention?"

"I'm not anybody's secretary, but I'll try to make myself as available as I can. What d'you figure you're going to find, anyway?"

"At this point, I'm still not sure, but given how far up the totem pole this goes, and given the fact that I needed you just to get this far, I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll need you for at least a part of whatever plan I come up with."

"I think I understand." Heather looked up at Robin and smiled. "Slow down, kid. Your mouth's moving a mile a minute. I'll help you out wherever I can, just as long as there aren't too many prying eyes around, okay?"

"I think I can make that work. Thanks, Heather."

"Don't mention it. So… where are you headed first?"

"Back to the beginning."

[November 9th, 9:56 am, Ereb Detention Center]

The detention center was as drab as ever when Robin sat down. Across from him, the cell's inhabitant wasn't looking that much livelier, although there was a noticeable difference in him from the first time Robin had laid eyes on him.

"Mr. LeBlanc," Renault Desombres greeted him, "good to see you again. I was missing you a trifle after our last interaction."

"I'm sorry we still have to meet in here, Mr. Desombres," Robin replied. "I'd much rather we have this conversation somewhere outside these walls."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself over that. That's just the good old SCC in action—forcing defense attorneys to play both defense and prosecution in one trial even when all the world can see the truth… this is exactly the sort of thing Fado and I discussed."

"Really? You talked about the SCC?"

"Oh my, yes. Among other things. Fado had a lot of hope for Ylisse and Plegia's legal futures, but he said it all had to start with the abolishment of that silly rule. Change is slow, though, and people rarely rally over something so dull as the law. Why bother making changes when you can just treat anyone suspected of a crime like a criminal and leave them to rot? Ylisse's complacency has allowed things like that to happen. And then, here in Plegia, their procedural and discovery rules are totally hostile to anyone other than the state-approved prosecution. Here, it's fear that keeps people down. Weed yourself out as one who questions the establishment's morality, and see yourself shunned by your entire community. It's a farce… one grand farce. Something I tried to leave behind… and look where it's gotten me."

Robin watched Renault's eyes dart back and forth during his soliloquy, as if he were imagining a grand amphitheater around him. "Despite all that, Fado had hope that it would change?"

"He certainly did. And I'll tell you what else: you were the one that gave him that hope, Robin. More than anyone, he chatted about you all day, how you represented the future of Ylissean law. He was so proud of you."

Robin's eye twitched. He rubbed it. Morgan watched her employer bow his head out of Renault's view for a moment. "That… means a lot. Thank you."

"Of course, lad."

"I have to say, Mr. Desombres, you're being pretty talkative about you, Fado, and the future of law now, despite how ready you were to go to the gallows when we first met."

"Heh. Well, that was on you, too, son. I wasn't sure if you were really everything Fado had made you out to be, but… having watched you at work, I think I finally sense the magic he was getting at. You really have a way of making a man feel like anything could be possible, given enough time."

"Thank you. Although, time isn't a luxury we have a lot of at this point."

"It most certainly isn't. That's why I've resolved to tell you absolutely everything I know so that you can finish this thing out properly."

"'Everything you know?' So you _were_ concealing things before."

"Of course I was. And now I think you know why. Forces bigger than you or me are at work here, boy. But you and Fado's boy, Ephraim… haha! You've shown you're not afraid of those blighters for a moment. So, if you're going to stick your necks out like that, I ought to at least give you the best chance you have of not losing 'em."

"That's a… colorful visualization."

Renault pushed himself up against the cell wall to straighten his sitting posture. "Out with it, then. What's on your mind?"

After taking a moment to figure out how to phrase it, Robin told him: "The first and only thing we need to prove is who hired Valter Mani. We know without a doubt that he was the assassin that killed Fado, and we know he was hired by a Plegian government official, but that's where our evidence ends. I want to know if you might have any idea who might have done something like that."

"I may have something for you to think about," Renault answered, sighing, "but you might not find it very pleasant. Still want to hear about it?"

"Of course." Robin's eyes were wide.

"All right, no turning back now, then. Let's begin with a little history. Tell me, Robin, what's the first thing you remember? You went to boarding school, didn't you? What was your first day there like?"

"I don't remember a lot very clearly. I think I remember my mother's perfume, and the feel of her hands, and her hair, that first day she dropped me off. There's no face in that memory, though, just shapes. And I never saw her again. Nor my father. I don't even remember him being around."

"That makes enough sense. Were you old enough to hear about what happened to Morgana Grimme?"

"Oh, yeah. It was all anyone talked about for a while."

Morgan scratched her head. "Who's Morgana Grimme?"

"She used to be the queen of Plegia back when I was little," Robin answered, "but she took ill suddenly and passed away. It was very sad. All the women teachers at my school were upset about it for weeks. They looked up to her a lot. Reading about it after the fact, she was an unprecedented voice of compassion and support for Plegia's homeless and destitute populations. It's no wonder a lot of those women looked up to her."

Morgan smiled. "Yeah. She seems like she was a really great lady."

"And I wonder how those teacher's would've felt if they knew they were being fed a lie."

"Beg pardon?"

Renault smirked. "The Plegian population at large was told that Morgana Grimme suddenly took ill and died. The truth is, she was pushed over a railing at the castle."

"W-What?!"

"Terrible thing. They wrapped her up quickly. She was bleeding out of a crack in her skull. They couldn't have anyone knowing that someone had infiltrated their defenses so easily. And so they hid it."

"What are you talking about? Who is 'they?'"

"Why, the Plegian government, son. If you lived around the castle at that time, you'd know there were all sorts of rumors floating around about it when it first happened: she tripped, she was drunk… they accused every man, woman, and child in Plegia of pushing her… ultimately, though, they just kept things quiet. They were afraid someone was targeting the Grimmes, and they didn't want anyone to know they'd failed to protect one of them."

"Someone… targeting the Grimmes?"

"Of course. I'm sure you know they've never been the most popular rulers in this country."

"That's true, but…"

"Um… what was wrong with the Grimmes?" Morgan asked, "Did they do something people didn't like?"

"Yeah," Robin answered her again, "they deposed the previous government. Up until the Grimmes took power, Plegia had been a constitutional monarchy. Abdiel Weissman was the last king of Plegia, and he was allegedly assassinated by a Ylissean terrorist named Ashnard Daein."

"Oh, that's right. You talked about that with your client in your first trial, didn't you?"

Gears started to turn in Robin's head. "Yes, I did."

"The fact that you say 'allegedly' assassinated tells me you're in the right headspace, lad," Renault said, finishing with a little laugh. "Yes, Abdiel Weissman was killed, and in the anarchy that came from that incident, the Reformation government was created, and Validar Grimme took over as the new ruler of Plegia, along with his wife, Morgana. Many folks didn't like Validar because he had ties to very fundamentalist sects of the Grimleal ideology. Then again, many people also thought that made him quite a pious man, and just the sort for the job. The whole country was divided on the matter. And when Morgana died, the Reformation government figured the other side was making their move."

"So, what is it you're driving at, exactly?" Robin asked.

"I'm sure that you know that the Grimmes have never had an heir."

"Right. I chalked that up to Morgana dying."

"But the whole nation knows that Validar was never a sentimental man. He didn't spend much time weeping after she passed. So if that was all that was stopping him, shouldn't he have remarried?"

"You think there's a reason he couldn't?"

Renault said nothing, but grinned slyly.

"Or maybe he didn't need to…? Wait… are you saying they did have a child? Like, in secret?"

Renault nodded. "That's right. They had a son not long before Morgana's death. When she died, they decided not to include the child on any official records for fear that someone might come after him. For as apathetic as he was about his wife, Validar was very protective of his heir. When he came of age, they sent him off to school under a different name and left him in the faculty's care."

Sweat began to accumulate on Robin's temple as his mind worked furiously. "How do you know all this? Do you know who this child is?"

"I heard a lot about some of your previous cases," Renault mused, "did you ever stop to think about how you've managed to get involved with a lot of assassins who have roots in Plegia?"

"Yes, I did. But what does that… Oh. Oh no. You're not… you're not seriously trying to tell me…"

Renault leveled his eyes with Robin's. They were as sharp as a knife. "Robin, how would you feel if I told you your last name wasn't 'LeBlanc?'"

Robin swallowed. "I'd find that very upsetting."

"And what if I told you that was _my_ last name?"

Robin's vision blurred. "I… I wouldn't know what to think of that. What… what in the world are we talking about, here?"

"If you're still confused, let me tell you a different story that ties into this one. A story of a young man who was eager to live fast and burn out bright. A story of a man who wanted to fight against something, but had no idea what that was. My story."

"Y-Yours?"

"That's right. Many years ago, yours truly was a solider in the Caelin army. I did a few tours, and then got sent home, but it wasn't enough for me. When I got back to living with the civilians in Caelin… it just never felt like home. It had never felt like home, but when I came back, it really struck me. Living there just felt… wrong. So I left home and joined a private military company based in Ostia. They sent me all over the world, mostly running private security for less-than-scrupulous types. At one point, I took on an assignment in Plegia. I could tell this one was big, because all my contacts used codenames. We weren't allowed to know who they were, and they promised they wouldn't look us up at all. That turned out to be a lie. Anyway, we were given a pretty simple job: guard a certain building overnight. They were worried about someone raiding the place, and so we were supposed to protect the folks living inside. Real sketchy job, and that's coming from someone who did sketchy jobs for a living. Totally mismanaged, too, because they never even gave us a floor plan or even a photo of the bastards we were supposed to protect. That's probably why it happened like it did."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Our contacts' fears were validated. The place came under attack. It was a bad scene. Started with explosions outside, and then the rooms filled with smoke. Our enemies were professionals, but so were we. We figured we could outfox them, and started clearing rooms one by one. Then a trap sprung and blew a guy's legs off. We were a lot more careful after that. We kept ducking from room to room, and, eventually, got separated. I heard two more of my guys get shot to death on my earpiece. And that's why… when someone suddenly opened the door in front of me… without thinking, my fingers tensed, and I shot at the door. I saw a big guy slump to the floor, bleeding, and then I noticed that he wasn't carrying a weapon. I started drawing a little closer, and then I saw… I saw…"

At this point, Renault seemed to be choking on his words. His breathing had become ragged. Robin eased back, hoping to give his client some space.

"It was a kid. A little boy. He got on his knees shaking the big guy I shot. My brain started working again at that point, and I realized what I had just done: I'd shot one of the guys I'd been assigned to protect. As you can imagine, I was frightened out of my wits. I may very well have soiled myself in the moment. I can barely even remember the rest of the night, although I remember every detail of that room: the big bed, the tiny nightstand with the little gold lamp, the gold box of cards on there, the way the gray walls that were all chipping away, the little red rugs, and, of course, the smell of smoke and blood… It was all clear as day. I flung myself out of the window of that room to get away from there and twisted my ankle getting out. I ran into the wasteland beyond there… it was all sand. Everything looked the same, and I just kept running, running, running. No purpose, no direction, just running… and then, finally, I stopped breathing. I couldn't see anymore. My body just gave out."

"But then, who…?" Morgan squeaked.

"Hold on, Morgan," Robin told her, "just give him a moment."

"When I regained consciousness, I was shackled to a bench in some kind of basement. I saw my contacts again there. They told me what had happened: the man I'd shot was King Abdiel Weissman of Plegia."

Robin started. His eyes widened tremendously, but he stayed silent to let Renault speak.

"They—my contacts—they were members of the Plegian government. They said they learned what happened, and that if they could, they would've had me executed. As it stood, though, they couldn't tell the public that they'd let their own king be murdered by some idiot mercenary they'd hired. So, instead, they chose to cover it up. Pretend the people who'd stormed the building that night had gotten to him. It almost happened that way, anyhow. Incidentally… that was Ashnard Daein's group. Buncha savages, that's all I can say. At that point, they gave me a choice… well, it was more like an ultimatum. They didn't want to kill me, because it would be tough to sweep under the rug. Instead, they offered me the chance to work someplace where I'd be under their constant supervision. I'd never be allowed to leave the country again, and, of course, I wasn't to breathe a word of what had really happened that night, but I would live. They said they thought that was a whole hell of a lot better than dying, and I agreed, so I signed a contract, and that was it. They gave me a new name and identity, and then shipped me out.

"In some ways, I've come to regret that choice. There were a lot of days I woke up wishing they'd killed me on the spot so I didn't have to live with the guilt of upending an entire nation like that. But… in another respect, the post they gave me was a good one. It gave me a chance to repent for what I'd done. Some days, I actually felt whole again—like a person. In ways I hadn't felt since I joined the army."

"What did they have you do?" Morgan asked.

"I was set up as a headmaster at a boarding school on the outskirts of Ereb. In fact, I still come by there from time to time, but I'm retired now. Or I was, until this whole thing started. While I was still working there, though, I was informed of a unique situation that I was going to have to handle: the new king, Validar Grimme, was worried about his son's safety, so he was going to place him in my care until it was time for him to ascend the throne. One day, a little white-haired boy showed up on the doorstep of my school, and I greeted him. I asked his caretakers what I should call him. They said I wasn't to use his last name, but that his mother had liked the name "Robin," so I stuck with it. I named the kid after me. I gave him my real name, before it was stolen by those bastards, my final act of rebellion against the people that had enslaved me. He would be my shining hope for the future, and my only way to spit in their face while I bided my time… his name would be Robin LeBlanc."

Robin stared at Renault quietly for several seconds as he processed the information. He looked down at one of his own hands as if it were alien to him, and then dropped it back down to his side. "And… that's all true?"

"Every word of it. I have no reason to lie to you, so I'm telling you everything you need to know, just like I promised I would."

"So… 'LeBlanc…' That's your name?"

"That's right. I was born Renault LeBlanc. Desombres was a pseudonym I was given when I started working as the headmaster."

"And I'm… you're saying I'm really Robin Grimme? The son of Validar and Morgana Grimme."

"That's correct."

"That's… it feels so bizarre. That name is so alien to me. It belongs in history books… it has nothing to do with me. I feel so much more attached to LeBlanc."

"Because it's the mantle you've worn all your life. And I was the one who gave it to you. I'm sorry if that bothers you. I had no right to impose it upon you, and yet, I used it as my little way of exacting a bit of petty revenge. Please forgive me."

"It's… all right. I just can't begin to believe what I'm hearing."

"I realize it may be a bit much to handle, but I thought it was important for you to know. I think there's a very good chance that what I've just told you will provide the final piece of the puzzle for you."

"It just might… but…" Robin shook his head derisively. "I'm sorry, I can hardly think straight. I'm not even sure what to do now. Where can I go from here?"

"I've taken you on a journey back to your past—back to the very beginning, so now, go forward from there," said Renault LeBlanc. "You've figured out quite a bit, Robin. I think you can see the road this case is heading down from where you're standing, you just have to keep walking it."

Robin nodded. "I think I get what you're saying. And you really think I'll figure out the truth that way?"

"Only the genuine truth can come from such an investigation. Starting from bedrock like that, there's no way you won't uncover what's underlying this whole mess. By seeing the world with fresh eyes, I think you'll learn more about it."

"'With fresh eyes?' No, it's not so much like that… I think I'm just about to see the world for what it really is. They way you've been able to see it all along, and I was just too ignorant to see."

"Not by your own will, Robin. You've been lied to. Even by me. That's going to keep happening all your life. People will rarely share the truth with you, which is why you've got to find it yourself."

"I suppose that makes sense. Is that why you ended up studying law? And how you met Fado? Was it really all predicated on that incident in the castle?"

"It was. I guess that's what I was looking for in my studies: some way to escape from the consequences of my actions. A way to make the world learn what I already knew. But I learned fairly quickly that the law is like a key, or a pencil… it's only a tool that you can use to lead people to find the things you want them to find. In the wrong hands… apathetic, or, worse, willfully ignorant hands… such a tool is useless. I grew apathetic in my time, too. Afraid. Tired. Content, even, in a way. That's why, when you first came to me, I chose to deceive you. I assumed it was impossible, and not worth the effort. It's another mistake I'll have to atone for. I hope I'll earn your forgiveness someday."

Robin stood up, motioning for Morgan to follow him. "If and when this case ends, and I find out who ordered Fado's murder… then you can count yourself forgiven," he told Renault.

Renault gave him a wry smile. "Ah. Now that's a gamble I'm happy to take."

Morgan and Robin walked back toward the door outside. As they stepped out, Morgan realized the purpose with which her employer was moving and asked, "Where are we going now?"

"To see an old friend," Robin said, not looking at her.

[November 9th, 1:48 pm, Ereb Residential District]

Robin grimaced when he looked at the shabby two-story house. The façade was grimy: an old railing decayed and rusted on the front lawn, its paint chipping off. The sidewalk and path leading to the door had crumbled and broken. The wood of the door was splintered and marked with long scratches. The brass doorknob was barely holding onto the frame. It, too, was scuffed and filthy. It almost made Robin regret touching it with his bare hands. He intended to knock first, but the decrepit doorknob sank in its socket and made the force of Robin's knock simply fling the door open partway. He concluded he didn't have time for courtesy, and stepped inside.

The inside wasn't any better than what had been outside. Books littered the floor, along with spatters of multiple different colors of liquids, and numerous burn marks. The furniture was well worn and sagging, and the air filled with all manner of noxious vapors and ethers—above all, a strong scent of alcohol and smoke clung to every surface in the place.

But none of that mattered, because the worst part of the whole scene was just about to step into Robin's view. Garbed in loose, holey pants and a frayed old shirt, white hair in a disjointed heap on his head, Henry Laffer stood less than a foot away from his old classmate. "Well, I'll be damned!" he shouted, "Is that you, Robin?!"

"Henry," Robin acknowledged him.

"Haha! It _is_! Well, c'mon! Siddown! It's been ages since we last saw each other! You nearly gave me a heart attack sneaking in like that, haha!"

"We won't be staying long," Robin said.

"What? Aw, don't be like that! We're old chums, aren't we?"

"No, we're not." Robin's voice hadn't changed at all.

"Really?" Henry laughed to himself. "I don't get it, what's your deal? I still thought we were pretty good friends, especially after what you did for me, nya ha! If you aren't here to catch up, what're you even doing here?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Robin said. He folded his arms. "That… 'favor' I did you."

"Oh, you want one in return, is that it? Well, I can't do much, but I can give you something that'll make a person think they're a pig for a few hours. That'd be pretty fun, right? Nya ha ha!"

"I want to talk about the fall I took for you, Henry," Robin said, "I want to talk about the death of Linde Miloah."

"I'm sure you do." Henry shrugged. "In case you haven't noticed, though, that's old news. No one cares anymore, Robin. The statute of limitations has run, and your verdict has been decided. It's too late for take-backsies, haha!"

"I don't care about any of that. I just want to know one simple thing, Henry: why?"

Henry cocked an eyebrow at his former classmate. "Why? Why did I kill her, you mean? What does that matter at this point?"

"You chose someone to take the fall for you. There were a lot of us at that school. A lot of us walked by that path. And yet, for some reason, you chose me. Why did you do that?"

Henry laughed aloud, shrugging all the while. "Why does anyone do anything, Robin? Sometimes, things just play out badly, and terrible things happen to people! For no reason at all! Pretty funny to think about, isn't it?"

"I'm not laughing."

"Yeah, you sure aren't. Tsk, you used to be a lot more fun back in the day."

"I also used to have no murder convictions to my name."

"Good point, nya ha!"

"Why did you kill Linde, Henry? And why did you blame it on me? I have to know these things. I won't leave without an answer."

"You know, Robin, if you took a good look at me and what I do, it might occur to you that I'm not exactly the picture of pure rationality. Or sanity. Or any standard of reasonable or moral behavior whatsoever. We were stupid kids. We wanted to stick it to the system, you know? And it really didn't matter who 'the system' was, we just wanted to shake things up! Have some excitement! Life gets so dull…"

"But you had a whole legal team. Fado told me… there was an entire firm covering your tracks. That, plus my confession, killed any chance he had of finding any evidence against you. Where did that team come from? You don't have the means to pay for your own counsel now, let alone then."

"Are you calling me poor? 'Cause you're right, nya ha ha! But I don't have any good answers for you. There was a guy who wanted me to kill that lady, and he wanted me to blame it on you, so I did it! It was a lot of fun!"

"Someone… told you to do it?"

"Yep, yep, yep! He told me the place, and the time, and everything: 'stand on this rooftop at this time and push her off to the left…' It was a great plan, all told."

"Why did you never mention this before?!"

"So you'd still take the fall for me, duh. If the police didn't get a confession from you, then there would've still been a chance that I'd be discovered, and I couldn't have that! Better to think you were doing a favor for a friend than some mysterious guy you've never met!"

"And you just… did what this person said? Just because you could?"

"Pretty much! Nya ha ha!"

"You don't happen to remember this person's name, do you?"

"Pffft! You think he'd have told me?! Hahaha! 'Say kid, go murder that lady! By the way, here's my driver's license for when the cops arrest you!' Ahahaha!"

"Was there anything distinctive about that person? A scar? Or his hair? His clothes, maybe?"

"Why are you so concerned about all this now? Oh, wait! I get it! Revenge plan, right! Ooh, you gonna stab him while he's asleep or something?! That'd be really good!"

"Nothing like that. I want to have a talk with him."

"Hehe… that sounds boring, but the way you say it makes it seem kind of exciting. Here." Henry walked into another room, and, in a moment, produced a pencil and paper, and sat down at a nearby table to start sketching. He drew a cylinder with a crooked top a bit like a teapot's on the paper and handed it to Robin. "He wore a symbol like that on his sleeves. I think anarchist groups used to use it after Morgana Grimme died."

Robin took the paper. He looked over at Henry, who was grinning at him. "That'll do. Thanks for your time, Henry." The attorney made for the door.

"Aw, you really don't wanna stick around? You don't even wanna give me a shot to the face for ruining your life, or anything?! Nya ha ha!"

"I want to get back to my life," Robin said, not looking back, "And I want you to do the same. This is goodbye, Henry."

"Sure, whatever," he chuckled. The door slammed shut. The brass knob fell out and split on either side of the door. Henry stared at it as the room around him began to grow darker.

Robin sat down in his car and put his hands on the steering wheel.

"Are you okay, Boss?" Morgan asked him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, "I got what I came for."

"You made a mistake," Morgan said, "but you're making up for it now. That's what matters. We all have a chance to do the right thing."

"That's right," Robin agreed, "we do. We've done quite a bit of investigating already today, haven't we?"

"It feels like a whole day, even though it's only been a few hours."

"What do you say we stop off at the hotel with some lunch before we get back to work?"

"Sounds good to me. I'm starving!"

"All right, look up someplace local on my phone. And once you're done with that, call Tharja's number."

"Tharja?" Morgan looked up at her employer. "The black-haired lady that investigated with us the first day?"

"Yep. That's her. Give her a call, I need to ask her about something Henry told me."

[November 9th, 3:06 pm, Roncontra Hotel]

Robin kicked the door open, carrying several plastic bags in his hands. Anna stood up when she heard the commotion and watched Morgan barrel in with Robin behind her. The attorney stumbled to the table in the front area of their hotel room and dropped the bags onto the table. They were labeled "The Curry-er." Morgan excitedly dug through one of them as Robin sighed with relief.

It was only at that moment that Anna noticed another figure meekly walking up behind them. She recognized her from earlier in the week as one of Robin's friends.

"I brought lunch, like you said," Robin announced, gesturing to the pile of plastic bags.

"I see that. A little late, but I'll take it," Anna told him.

"By the way, I brought Tharja with us," Robin said, presenting their raven-haired guest. "I need her help figuring some things out. You remember her from the other day, right?"

"Mm-hm. How are you, Tharja?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, crouching behind Robin's shoulder, "just, you know… er, fine."

Robin dug into one of the bags and pulled out a plastic bowl, handing it to Anna. Chunks of chicken sat in the bowl, surrounded by carrots and slices of bell pepper, and all swimming in a yellow sauce. "That's for you," Robin said, "I know you like things a little spicy, so I made sure they made it nice and hot."

The group dug in and ate their meals, and Robin gradually explained what he and Morgan had done that day, carefully skipping over the biggest revelation Renault had told him, and then finishing by describing the trip to Henry's.

When he finished talking about his latest visit, Robin pulled out the drawing Henry had given him, and presented it to Tharja. "Here," he said, "this is the symbol he said the man was wearing when he made the request. Does it look familiar?"

Tharja swallowed a forkful of rice as she looked it over. "Mm. Yeah, I've seen it before. Some of my old friends used to have necklaces and stuff in this shape. Small stuff, though. Stuff that's easy to hide. Because, technically, it's illegal to wear it. And, er… when I say 'old friends,' I mean the ones who were with that guy who… uh… Ahem. I mean… I mean 'people who aren't my friends anymore.'"

"Really? Illegal to wear in public? So he wasn't lying?" Robin wondered. "Did Plegian anarchists use this symbol?"

"Anarchists, yeah, and all sorts of revolutionaries, too. Anyone who wasn't a fan of the Reformation government. The symbol is supposed to look like a crumbling tower, see?"

Robin stared blankly at the paper. "I don't know if Henry's art skills are sufficient to convey that impression."

"Still," said Tharja, "I'd know the symbol anywhere, I've seen it plenty of times."

"Well, that's good." Robin dropped his fork into his empty bowl and leaned back in his seat. "For once, Henry gave me something useful. We're still a long ways away from answering the ultimate question here, but this is progress."

"Sweet, sweet progress," Morgan echoed, licking the bottom of her bowl.

"What's next, then?" Anna asked, "Surely you don't think this guy was the one who hired Valter?"

"Probably not, no, but it doesn't really matter," Robin answered, "he can still lead us to him. I'm sure there are other people who know this symbol, since Tharja's verified its authenticity."

"Like who?"

"She mentioned her former friends… I'm wondering if there isn't someone from an earlier case who could tell us a little bit more about this 'anarchist' group."

Tharja shuddered. "Ew, that guy? Um, I think I'll pass, if that's where you're headed."

"That's fine, I didn't really expect you to tag along for the whole investigation," said Robin, "I just needed your help confirming those details. Oh, and one other thing, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. What is it?"

"Something's still bothering me about that card that Fado was holding onto when we investigated the scene."

"Oh, you mean the Emperor card?"

"That's right. You said there was something different about it, didn't you?"

"Yeah… the orb in the emperor's hand wasn't quite right."

"I'd like for you to look into that, if you could. See if you can find out where that design comes from. I think it'd help a lot."

"Sure thing. That'll be easy! …I think."

"Great. Thanks. Everything going okay with you, Anna?"

"I've seen the same episode of the same soap opera playing three times on this channel," Anna said, pointing to the TV at the other end of the room, "so I feel like I'm going a little stir-crazy, but I'm doing all right."

"Would you like Tharja to stick around, give you some company?"

"I don't think so," Anna said flatly. Tharja was also shaking her head.

"Then I'll give you something to do. Can you hand me that folder labeled 'OPH?'" Robin pointed to a collection of files and folders that was covering a nearby nightstand.

Anna cocked an eyebrow, then walked over to the nightstand. She scanned the papers for the initials, and, on finding the appropriate folder, brought it back, handing it over to Robin.

"Thanks," Robin said as he took it. He opened the file and pulled out a certain paper. He placed it on the table face-down and slid it over to Anna. "Do me a favor, do some digging on the names on that list. I think there might be a pattern emerging. I'll call you a little later."

Anna stared at the paper quizzically. "All right, I guess. Better than hearing how that one lady on this show survived her death for the fourth time."

"All right. Morgan and I should probably get back to it. Call us right away if you need anything, though."

"Of course. Search hard, you two! Tomorrow's going to be a trial for the ages."

 _Don't remind me._ "We'll do what we can." Robin stood up, and Morgan mirrored him. "Come on, we're going back down to the detention center."

[November 9th, 4:29 pm, Ereb Detention Center]

Robin summoned his breath before sitting down. Morgan tried to peek around him to see who was waiting in the cell before them. She stopped when she realized Robin was giving her a sideways look. When Robin was ready, they both sat down. Behind the bars, Morgan didn't recognize the fair-faced young man with the lavender hair. He had a gentle air about him—a certain naivete, one might say, but he was clearly unhappy. Anyone would be, given the circumstances, Morgan supposed. When the young man met eyes with Robin, his brow creased, and his looks became distinctly less gentle.

"You…?" he muttered.

"So, you still remember me," said Robin. "I guess it hasn't been that long, has it, Lyon Mulroy?"

"Not nearly long enough," Lyon replied.

Morgan tugged on her employer's sleeve. When he looked down, her eyes begged him for an explanation. He held out his index finger and turned back to Lyon.

"I'm surprised to see you in Plegia," Lyon said, "why would you come here? The place is falling apart at the seams."

"That's exactly why I'm here," answered Robin. "I need some information, and I think you're the best source I know of for it."

"What? I haven't been outside these walls since my conviction. I'm just awaiting transfer to a larger institution. There's nothing I could tell you about the outside world right now that you don't already know."

"I don't want to talk about right now. I want to talk about the past. How does someone like you end up becoming an assassin?"

"S-Someone like me? What are you getting at?"

"Lyon… you weren't always like this, were you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I spoke with Naesala Scaltro not too long ago."

"N-Naesala…?"

"He knew about you, Lyon. He called you 'soft' and said that you had always had a lot to prove. What's a person to deduce from that?"

"He said that…? W-Well, what the hell does he know? More importantly, what does this have to do with anything?"

Robin shook his head slowly. "Let me start over with a different question: Lyon, why did you kill Harken Gaetz?"

"Are you having memory problems or something? You just mentioned about me being an assassin. That's why."

"But that isn't _why_ you killed him. It's not a reason to _want_ to kill him. What motivated you to become an assassin in the first place?"

"What does that matter? I'm already in here, aren't I? What good does it do to explain all that?"

Robin took Henry's sketch out of his pocket and dropped it onto the table before him, its corners bumping against the plexiglass. "Does this look familiar? Did someone with a tattoo like this approach you?"

Lyon shifted in his chair. "What… how did you… n-no! That's not… I mean… just… why the hell do you care so much?"

"I used to be like you, Lyon," Robin said softly, lifting his head back up so that his eyes were perfectly level with Lyon's. "I felt alone. Shunned. Unwanted. I resented the world around me for putting me where I was. I was resolved to do something about it, and I surrounded myself with people who I thought were of like mind. Then those people started doing things that I thought were too extreme—they weren't what I wanted for that world. But by that point, it was too late. When I didn't want to go along with them, they all cast me aside, too. If it weren't for someone new coming into my life, I might've gone over the edge and done something crazy myself."

"He said the same thing to me," Morgan piped up. "I was gonna throw myself in jail to spare my friends, but Mr. LeBlanc made me realize that that wouldn't have done any good. Trying to cover things up, or hide things, or bury the truth of the matter… it might seem like the right thing to do in the moment, but it only leads to greater problems later on. Eventually, you come to realize that things would've been better if you'd just fessed up at the start and stayed true to yourself."

"True to… myself…" Lyon thought that remark over, fingers idly playing upon his face.

"Major changes are coming for Plegia. Ylisse too. I want those changes to be in the right direction. Would you be willing to help me with that?" Robin asked, offering his hand.

"You… you're right," Lyon mumbled. "I never wanted to kill anybody, you know? My hands… my hands never stopped shaking… the whole time."

"I can imagine… you spilled all that poison."

"That night… I went home and… I vomited into my toilet the entire evening. I just kept shaking. I felt so cold."

"So then, why?"

"It's like you said… I hate what Plegia's become. King Validar doesn't care about his subjects at all, least of all people like me. The justice system's in shambles—political prisoners get fast-tracked toward execution. People like me get rounded up on the streets and beaten for stealing or even just loitering. This place… most of the time, it feels like sheer hell. I wanted to do something about that, because, despite everything, there are people and things here that I love. I wanted to make it better. I started looking for groups that thought like me, and… before I knew it, people were shoving knives, guns, and poison into my hands."

"Weapons, huh? I guess Harken wasn't the first one you killed."

"No. There were others. But they were… different, somehow. They were people who'd done awful things, like falsely accusing others and abusing their children… but Harken… he was the first one who… when I thought about it, he hadn't done anything wrong."

"I see. So that's what prompted your hesitation. And what led you to get caught."

"Yeah… and now I'll be paying for it for the rest of my life. That's only what I deserve."

"At least you have the presence of mind to acknowledge that you were wrong."

"I only wish I could've made a bigger impact… a real impact. Not starting fires, but actually doing something, you know?"

"You could start doing something today. You could give me your employer's name."

"I can't do that," Lyon said, looking down. "And I really mean I _can't_ , not that I won't. He never gave me his name. The best I could tell you is that he looks sort of pale, and… jagged, I guess? He has a face that looks like it was hewn of metal."

"That's a… colorful description, I suppose."

"I'm sorry. I realize it's not much help."

"Where did you first meet with this person?"

"In a temple. Owned and operated by my father."

"Really?"

"I'm not one of the Faithful, if you're wondering. I was born into that life, but I drifted away from it. Gods never really helped me no matter how much I asked."

"Do you think I could have the address of this temple?"

"Why would you want that? You're not going after my father, are you? We weren't always on the best terms, but I wouldn't wish harm upon him."

"No, nothing like that. I want to investigate that person you met more. Unless your father witnessed him there, I don't think we need to even speak to him."

"He didn't, so… just… promise to leave my father out of this, all right?"

"You have my word." Robin put his hand up in solemnity. Morgan copied him.

Lyon told Robin the address. Robin wrote it down on Henry's sketch, and then replaced the paper in his pocket.

"I hope you find something useful," Lyon said. "I hope you can change things, like you said. The world right now isn't good enough. It ought to be better. It needs something earthshattering to fix it."

"I'm going to do everything I can," Robin said. "Thank you for your help, Lyon. Anything I achieve, you'll have had a part in it."

Robin and Morgan got up and bid Lyon goodbye.

"In some way… that really does make me feel… different. Perhaps not better, but there is a feeling about it… something light. Airy. Freeing."

As Robin and Morgan returned to Robin's car, Robin whipped out his phone and dropped a paper into Morgan's lap. The paper was nothing but a long itemized list, in descending alphabetical order, of names, phone numbers, addresses, and amounts in Ylissean dollars. According to the header, it spanned thirteen pages.

"What's this?" Morgan asked, staring at the page.

"It's a part of my theory," Robin answered with the phone up to his ear, "I want you to go down that list and see if any of the addresses noted there line up with the address Lyon just gave us."

"Oh… all right." Morgan stared intently at the paper.

On the other end of Robin's phone call, he heard Heather's voice come through: "What's up?"

"I have something I need to go over with you. Can we meet in the same place as earlier?"

"Sure."

"And bring your friend, if you could. I think he'll want to hear about this."

"Really? All right. He'll be there."

That was all he needed. Robin hung up his phone and concentrated on the road as he turned out of the parking lot. The vision in his head was becoming clearer, and it didn't look good.

[November 9th, 5:48 pm, Pablo Plaza]

Heather was seated at a picnic bench that was half-doused in shadow. Across from her was a figure Robin quickly recognized as Matthew. He seemed to be listening to Heather describe something, but not with great interest. Their heads turned as soon as Robin and Morgan approached.

"So, I hear you've got something," Heather said, "I hope it's worthwhile."

"I hope so, too, because it's more than 'something,'" said Robin. He closed his eyes and then reopened them sharply, staring down at Heather. "It's everything."

"Let's not beat around the bush then, eh?" said Matthew, almost too cheerily, "We don't have a lot of daylight left, and you're going to need to rest up in preparation for the trial tomorrow. Things are about to get pretty exciting around here…"

"The man has a point," Heather agreed, "show us what you've got."

With a nod from Robin, Morgan came forward and placed the list on the picnic table. She flipped through the pages and pointed out four names she'd circled in black pen. Heather realized what she was getting at after the third.

"I see… all those names associated with that temple… but what's the connection to the temple?"

"Moreover, what is this list I'm looking at?" Matthew added.

Heather answered him: "This is a list of all the known targets of Oliver Pope, the former CEO of Heron Corp."

"The one who killed that girl? And was involved with all that blackmail business?"

Heather frowned. "Just so."

"So… these are his targets, hm? The ones who paid him?"

"That's right, through his insurance front. There are people from all walks of life in here, but Oliver targeted as many wealthy louts as he could. He kept their extralegal indulgences quiet for a hefty fee. Robin seems to find it interesting that four of them are connected to this temple, however."

"I see. So then, what's the big to-do about this temple?"

"I just spoke with Lyon Mulroy," Robin said. "He told me about how he was first approached for his assassination job by someone bearing an anti-Reformation symbol in that temple. That story is the same for two other Plegians I've dealt with: Tharja Anderra and Henry Laffer. Much earlier, I also had a conversation with Naesala Scaltro where he tacitly admitted to being familiar with Lyon. There's too much overlap here for this to be a simple coincidence."

"Naesala… Scaltro, you say?" Matthew's expression darkened.

"Yes. He was… involved in an old case of mine."

"What a coincidence. Mine, too."

"Robin, there's no need to be shy about it," Heather told him, "Matthew… well, he knew Leila…"

"Leila… the victim," Robin muttered. The words weren't directed at anyone, they simply spilled out of his lips.

Matthew's face was stony now. "Yeah. That cold-blooded bastard iced her. And it wasn't for no reason, either. We were trying to discreetly release information from a recent investigation, and somebody wanted it kept quiet. The only thing I couldn't tell you is why."

"I think I might have that part of it."

"Huh? You think you know the details?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea. After all, I was the defense attorney in that case. I'm closer to it than anyone."

Matthew's eyes widened. " _You_ were the defense? Naga-fucking-damn. Small world."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get justice for Leila," Robin told him, "I was inexperienced, and I let my arrogance get the better of me."

"It's not your fault," said Matthew, looking away, "that prick didn't play by the rules. Pulled a damn gun in a courtroom! What lousy-ass security let him get away with…! Argh!"

"Easy," Heather shushed him, grabbing his hand.

"Despite my previous failure, can I still ask for your hand in solving this case, Matthew?" Robin asked. "I may need you to… to testify. And I realize that might not be easy."

Matthew folded his arms. "You want me to testify, eh? Get up and tell the whole world my name and what I do? You know that's suicide for someone in my position, right?"

"I understand. You don't have to, if you're unsure. I'll go about it another way."

"Hold on. I asked you a question. I asked if you knew exactly what you were asking of me right now. Do you?"

"O-Of course. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it was that important."

"And you're sure about your theory?"

"More sure than I've been about anything before in my life."

"All right, then." Matthew nodded. "To hell with it. You get us that far along in the trial, and I'll testify about whatever you want."

"You sure about that?" Heather eyed him skeptically.

"I don't care about any part of this whole stupid job more than I care about getting whoever's responsible for putting Leila down. I think you know how that feels."

Heather didn't react. "I guess that settles it."

"So, with that out of the way," Matthew turned around to face Robin again, "What is this theory of yours? Do you really think you know who's responsible for all this? The assassinations, the political shakeups, the general mayhem? Leila Viscount, Pelleas Apoleus, Harken Gaetz, Nephenee Monell, and Fado Verlaine… who in the world could be the common factor between all of them?"

Robin inhaled. "The only way to find out is to take what we know for sure and eliminate whatever can't be true. The only thing remaining will be the one thing that is true… that's deductive reasoning at its heart. We now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Valter Mani was the true murderer in this case—he undertook the action that directly led to Fado's demise. We also know that Fado was hired by someone with a lot of sway in the Plegian government to commit this murder—he didn't act alone. He had a plan that was specifically carried out along with an accomplice. The only thing we still need to determine is who hired Valter.

"In order to determine that, I focused my investigation on other assassins I've dealt with during my previous cases, since they seemed to repeatedly show up. I'd hoped a pattern would emerge, and, eventually, one did: Lyon Mulory, Henry Laffer, and Tharja Anderra, all disaffected Plegian youths, each reported encountering a stranger wearing a tower-like symbol that's associated with groups who are opposed to Plegia's current government. Tharja never got seriously involved with that individual, but Lyon and Henry were both incensed to commit murder after their encounter. By his own admission, Naesala Scaltro knew Lyon, but it's unclear if he was recruited by the same method.

"Further, the list Heather provided me with makes it clear that some of the people involved with this method of recruitment were involved in schemes outside of Plegia—money was changing hands in Ylisse, too. That means whatever this operation is, it's massive. Political and business figures in both countries have been targets of assassinations and deliberate takedowns."

Heather interjected, "You mean you think Oliver was involved in this, too?"

Robin nodded. "I'm sure of it. Do you remember back in the trial, the strangeness with Eliwood and Hector's phone records?"

"Oh yeah… that never did get resolved."

"I kept thinking about it… who would've messed around with those records like that? It was almost like someone wanted to draw attention to those times so they could be used against Oliver. Then it hit me: what if someone was above Oliver and decided they no longer wanted him?"

"Have the law dispose of him…? Robin, this is—"

"Crazy, I know, but at this point, it's the only thing that makes sense. If you look at that list, you'll see that for the entries with that temple as an address, money isn't coming out, but going in. Ostensibly, Oliver was making charitable donations to the temple."

"Donations? I see… so someone had a hold on him, too."

"That's what I figured. Then, you have the fact of Leila's assassination, and the report she was trying to deliver. I think you and Matthew both know exactly how earthshattering the contents of that report are."

"No kidding," said Matthew, "There's quite a story in those pages. Which is exactly why someone might want to keep that mess quiet."

Robin nodded. "Exactly. And who would want to stifle a report of that nature but the Plegian government itself? The problem with that is that the government as a collective can't be responsible for everything that's happened here, because the assassins I mentioned earlier were all opposed to the current establishment. That begs the question, who would serve the interests of the Reformation government by hiding Leila's report, but counteract it by hiring assassins to weave a web of political and economic subterfuge?"

Matthew snapped his fingers. "I think I get it. If someone's got that much power over the political and economic spheres of Plegia, then, if they were to let that report slip at just the right moment…"

"They could plunge the country into anarchy and snatch up power in a coup," Heather finished.

Robin nodded again. "My thoughts exactly. So, the only question remaining is, who could be so powerful as to hold that much influence? I learned a little tidbit from Renault that I think will be the final nail in that person's coffin. It's all become perfectly clear to me now what they've been planning all along. Before that happens, come what may, I'm going to call them to testify in court tomorrow… and expose them before their plan can come to fruition."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "…And? Who is that? Who are you going to expose, exactly?"

"It's a little out there," Robin said, "so I think it's for the best if I don't actually name names until the trial. When that time comes, I'll need your help, and you'll have heard everything, all right?"

Matthew shrugged and gave the attorney a smirk. "Fine. You sound like you know what you're saying enough for me to believe you. I'm in. Just don't disappoint me."

Heather agreed: "Same here. We're counting on you to get this right."

"There are more people than just you two counting on me," Robin said. "I swear, I'll bring the person behind all this to justice. It's time to pierce the dark veil that's been covering Plegia and finally bring the truth to light!"

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Investigation Day 3 – End]


	22. Turnabout in the Tower: Trial Day 3

[November 9th, 8:42 am, Ereb District Court – Defendant Lobby]

Robin dug one hand into his pocket. He reached his other arm around Morgan and guided her through the crowd. The flashes of photographs being taken made him squint. A pair of court officials in stark black uniforms appeared to move the members of the press out of the way. Chatter rang out all along the street, and red-and-blue police lights reflected off of every surface in the lobby. Robin was blind and deaf to all of it, however. He concentrated on the sensation of his hand tightening in his pocket, as well as the one holding Morgan's shoulder. Anna walked closely behind him. Occasionally, he could feel her breath on his neck, and the scent of her perfume never quite left him.

At last, they managed to sit down. Still, the entire group remained silent, afraid to try and bring order to the chaotic energy of the air around them. Anna thought of something simple: "We're in for a long one today, no doubt."

"Not to mention difficult. And heavily scrutinized," Robin sighed, "Oh, the halcyon days when I was just taking simple murder cases for a friend."

"As if anything that's happened over the last few months has been simple," Anna replied.

"Got me there."

"So, do you really think you know who's responsible, Boss?" Morgan asked. "I listened to you talk to Heather and Matthew yesterday, but you said you didn't want to put a name out there. Are you ready to indict someone today?"

"I don't have much choice. I only have one operating theory at this point, and if I don't manage to prove it, I'm going to be up a creek. As long as the SCC remains in place, I have to find out who's really at the heart of Fado's murder if I ever want him to get the justice he deserves."

"Speaking of, I wonder how Ephraim's doing?" Anna added. "I haven't heard anything from Eirika since the other day."

"She might be staying quiet until this affair resolves itself. That'd be the smart move," said Robin, "I almost wish I could do the same."

"Hey now." Anna wagged her finger at him. "There's no room for fear now. You brought yourself this far forward, now it's time to bring it to an end. And not just for your sake, but for everyone you're helping, too."

Robin nodded slowly. "Right. No two ways about it, the trial has to end today. Whatever the result, that's what I'm going to carry with me forever."

Morgan stuck out her tongue. "'Whatever result,'" she repeated mockingly. "You're gonna do fine, Boss. If there's anyone I would believe could figure this mess out, it's you. Plus, you've got me and Anna with you, so how could you fail? We'll just put our heads together."

"You _are_ pretty bright," he agreed, "I just hope I don't have to rely on you too much."

Anna stared straight into his eyes. "You've got this. Ready?"

"Ready."

The trio stood up and marched toward the courtroom doors. The bailiff opened them, and everyone proceeded inside. The cold air of the court and the heated air of the lobby swirled together as a throng of bodies piled into the court for the end of the trial.

[November 9th, 9:04 am, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

Robin, Morgan, and Anna swam through the river of people entering the courtroom and found their place at the defense bench. As Robin stood and waited for the judge to call the court to order, he quickly noticed that the prosecutor's bench was empty. He hadn't thought about it much before the trial, because his mind had been entirely wrapped up in other pursuits, but he now realized that Ephraim's departure meant that the lead prosecutor on this case was no longer available. Did Ephraim have a replacement in mind? Would someone else from his team stand opposite him? If not, what would be the fate of this trial? A failure of the prosecution to appear would likely result in a default judgment for the defense, but if that were to be the case, Robin wouldn't have the opportunity to present his final theory to the court.

Anna caught him scrutinizing the bench and directed her stare that way, too. She understood quickly what Robin was thinking, but was unable to say anything before the judge called the court to order.

"Silence, please," the judge requested. "I am aware of the status and import of today's trial. Major developments over the course of this trial have made it a significant matter of public concern, not just for Plegia or Ylisse, but for the entire legal world. I understand that there are many eyes studying the movements of our humble little courtroom closely today, and I understand that whatever verdict we render at the conclusion of today's proceedings, a message will be sent to that watchful world that may go on to guide the fates of both Plegia and Ylisse. I hope my saying as much has not intimidated any of the counsel present today from resolving the issue before us, as a fair, firm, unflinching resolution must be achieved today."

_Certainly not, Your Honor. Why would telling somebody that whatever comes out of his mouth might destroy two whole countries ever cause him to second-guess himself?_

"I also note that there is an element absent from our current proceedings, likely as a result of the events of the previous trial. As I'm sure everyone present is aware, it is impossible to conduct a trial without both sides of the issue at argument fairly represented. At this point, there appears to be no prosecutor present, which would make the further conduction of this trial impossible. I was informed previously of a change in the prosecution's representation, but there does not appear to be any such substitute currently in the courtroom."

_So there was a substitution. Ephraim really thought of everything, didn't he? But where's his substitute? Who could he have picked that wouldn't have showed up on time?_

"Just a moment, Your Honor," called a voice from the back of the courtroom, "I have every intention of standing as prosecutor, as soon as I'm permitted entry."

The judge looked to the back of the court and saw the bailiff struggling to manage a mob that was still flocking around the doors. A guard on the other side of the door was attempting, quite futilely, to pull the doors shut as more and more people shoved their way in. "Who said that?" the judge called back. "Bailiff, allow that man forward. Show the bailiff your prosecutor's badge, sir."

Presumably, the man did so, as in a few moments, he strode easily out of the crowd and toward the center of the court. When he settled into his position at the prosecutor's bench, Robin couldn't believe his eyes.

"Prosecutor Lloyd Reed is prepared to stand trial, Your Honor," said the prosecutor. He looked over to Robin and smiled.

"P-P-Prosecutor Reed?!" Robin stammered.

"Surprised?" He folded his arms. "Prosecutor Verlaine and I know each other fairly well, actually. Once he learned that you were his opposing counsel, he knew I'd be eager to sink my teeth into this case."

Robin glared at his opponent. "Is that what this is about? Some kind of vendetta? Because if you've come into this court just to exact some kind of revenge on me, I'll tell you right now, you picked the wrong case."

Lloyd Reed shook his head, still smiling. "While I recognize that our prior relationship has been… rocky, to put it mildly, my presence today is more of a gift to you than anything. I came here because you and I have the same goal in mind: uncovering the truth of this situation."

"You say that, but… you disappeared after your last loss. Are you sure this has nothing to do with you wanting to even the score?"

"A short while ago, it might have. But, as much as it pains me to admit it, you made me realize something, LeBlanc. When I first took my place in the courtroom, it was to follow in my father's footsteps. I was taught from an early age that it is a prosecutor's duty to stand in the court and condemn all those who come before him, and that the attorney's only role was to endeavor to help those miscreants slip from the grasp of justice. When I went over my cases against you, though… hours upon hours of cold, logical thought cut through me as sharply as the blade wielded by Lady Justice herself."

Robin blinked. "I'm… not sure I follow."

Lloyd rolled his eyes. "My point is this: for a time, I thought myself the only extension of justice in the court, and all my opponents were simple obstacles in the path to obtaining that justice. What I've come to realize is that the road we walk through argument in court _is_ that path. A duel of wits to sharpen the cleaving sword of truth, not a simple bout of good and evil."

"I think I understand. So, you're not going to stand in my way?"

"I didn't say that. There has to be a debate in a courtroom, or there's no trial at all. What I'm saying is that I'll hear your conclusions, but I won't just sit and listen. Prove to me and this whole court that you've taken the pains necessary to find the truth at the heart of this trial, and then maybe you'll find the result you desire."

"That's fine. I've got everything I need."

"That's what I like to hear."

The judge cleared his throat. "Well, I'm unaware of the history between you two, but, from the sound of it, it would seem that both counsels are prepared to begin the trial. Do I have the right of it?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the attorneys answered simultaneously.

"Very good. The trial of Renault Desombres will now reconvene. When we left off, Prosecutor Verlaine relayed some startling news to this court: the man we now know as Valter Mani was employed by a certain person to assassinate the victim, Fado Verlaine. He did so by waiting in a certain room in a cantina until Fado Verlaine entered, along with the defendant, and then shot the victim, and framed the defendant for the killing. Were the trial to be ended at this point, there is little doubt in my mind that the jury would render a verdict against Renault Desombres. However, with that said, the Ylissean Substitute Culpability Clause requires a defense attorney to indict another party in order to complete a plea of Not Guilty to murder in the first degree. It is also the burden of that attorney to persuade the jury that it is more likely than not that the indicted individual was the one truly responsible for the crime. That being the case, Mr. LeBlanc, it is both your prerogative and obligation to name the individual responsible for Fado Verlaine's murder: will you have Valter Mani arraigned, or can you name his employer, to whom his culpability would extend?"

"Your Honor," said Robin, lifting his head, "the defense has a name it would like to posit for Valter Mani's employer."

"I had hoped so," said Lloyd. "Now, give us your best shot!"

"Who will you name, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Your Honor, the defense believes that the party guilty of the murder of Fado Verlaine… is none other than Gangrel Weissman!"

"WH-WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" the judge started. Similar clamor spread through the court, as well as the feverish rocking of heads from side to side, trying to determine if they had heard the attorney correctly.

Lloyd Reed folded his arms again and muttered, "Good, good."

Morgan turned to Anna. "I don't get it. Who's Gangrel Weissman, and why's everybody so upset about it?"

"Gangrel Weissman was the heir to the Plegian throne, back when it was still a monarchy, years before you were born," Anna answered. "Robin just told this whole Plegian courtroom that the prince of their last king planned to have a Ylissean political figure assassinated. That'd be big news. Even a cause for war."

"I hope you understand the implications of what you're claiming, Mr. LeBlanc!" said the judge. He meant to sound intimidating, but the waver in his eyes and voice destroyed that illusion.

"I do. I wouldn't make such an accusation if I didn't have substantial evidence to prove it."

"You'd better," said Lloyd, "because as amusing as your indictment is, Mr. Weissman is a very important man. I'm not about to just drag him into the court on a whim. You'll need to prove to me and this court that it's worth our time to even undertake such an exercise."

"That won't be a problem." Robin bowed. "I'll need to bring a witness forward to explain the situation to the court, however."

"By all means," said Lloyd.

"Your Honor, the defense would like to call the defendant, Renault Desombres, to testify," said Robin.

"No objections," Lloyd added quickly.

"Very well. Bailiff?"

At the judge's command, Renault Desombres was brought to the front of the courtroom with the bailiff's help. As he stood at the witness stand, his posture and disposition were easy. A slim smile stretched across his face.

"Mr. Desombres, I'm going to ask you to tell the court about our conversation yesterday," Robin told him. "Are you willing to do that?"

"Of course," he replied, smile growing wider. "I think the real issue is whether this court's ready to hear it. Today's going to be one for the books, Mr. LeBlanc."

"No doubt."

Lloyd chuckled. "Well, this _is_ interesting. Please, don't waste any time, if you don't mind, Mr. LeBlanc. I'd like to get this show on the road straight away."

"I'm inclined to agree. Mr. Desombres, please tell the court about your interaction with Mr. Gangrel Weissman, the heir apparent to the retired Plegian monarchy."

"Yes, sir." Renault bowed. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, those in the gallery, and esteemed members of the court, until today, you have known me as Renault Desombres, the legal scholar and associate of Fado Verlaine. I come before you today to inform you that such is not a complete and accurate description of my person. The truth of the matter is, before assuming my current position, I was a mercenary. I traveled from country to country, selling my services to whoever would offer me the best price. I fought and killed in the name of money. It is something that I deeply regret in my advanced age, but it is a part of me no less.

"I tell you this not as an act of contrition, but to explain my circumstances. You see, there was a certain job I took that altered my fate forever, and my employer was the government of Plegia, under the dedicated rule of King Abdiel Weissman at the time. I was given a contract with limited information, assigned to protect a certain building and some persons of interest within. What I didn't know at the time was that the building was a refuge for the king and his family to hide in from their attackers. When the fighting began, my ignorance caused a terrible accident…"

Renault closed his eyes. He exhaled, as if he were trying to push the doubts out of his head by force. "Ladies and gentlemen… I, Renault Desombres, killed King Abdiel Weissman. Taking him to be one of my enemies, I fired my weapon into his chest, killing him nigh-instantly. After that, a boy approached me, pounding his little fists against me for slaying his father. That boy was, of course, Prince Gangrel—now simply Gangrel Weissman."

The court had been shocked into silence. No one dared move or speak a word. Instead, their eyes bore holes into the defendant, evaluating with great care every pore on his skin to find the slightest glimpse of deceit or hesitation. Of course, there was none to be found. Renault Desombres was no longer afraid. The shadow of his deeds hung over him no longer—his expression was simply empty, the face of a man contented before the executioner's blade. He'd said what he needed to say.

Taking advantage of the silence, Robin spoke up: "It is for that reason that I now indict Gangrel Weissman with the murder of Fado Verlaine. I argue that Mr. Weissman did intentionally and knowingly arrange for Valter Mani to end Mr. Verlaine's life, making him equally culpable in the eyes of the law."

"Well now… that _is_ quite an intriguing little yarn." Eyes drifted over to Lloyd. "But I don't think it's quite enough, Mr. LeBlanc. At this time, I have no reason to doubt the truth of Mr. Desombres's testimony, and I certainly can fathom that the murder of one's father would prove a strong motivator for yet more murder, but I fail to see how the story we have just been told provides proof that Mr. Weissman arranged for Mr. Verlaine's murder. Surely, based on what we've just heard, Mr. Desombres would be the more likely target, no?"

Robin nodded. "I can see how you'd come to that conclusion, but Mr. Desombres was under special protection following that incident. Isn't that right?"

"Just so," Renault agreed. "The members of the government who hired me… they apprehended me when I tried to flee. They feared that they, too, would be implicated in their king's death as a result of hiring me. As such, they gave me an ultimatum: continue living under a false identity and their constant scrutiny, or face immediate execution. Given my presence today, I think you can guess what I chose."

"A false identity, you say?" Lloyd started. "Just who are you, then? Have you any involvement in the law at all, or is even that mere fabrication?"

"No, not entirely," Renault replied. "First, I think I owe you all the duty of giving you my real name… I am not now, nor have I ever been Renault Desombres. My birth name is Renault LeBlanc. And to answer the question immediately raised by that statement, I used to act as the headmaster of a boarding school attended by the young man who is now my attorney."

"Wh-What's that?" Lloyd's eyebrows jumped up. "You were…?"

"A few record checks is all it'll take to see I'm telling the truth. The academy's name was the Lopto Institute for Higher Learning. It has connections to Lopto University, where I'm a professor _emeritus_ , as I mentioned much earlier in this trial. I studied law at the university and was permitted to move to it after several years at the boarding school. Eventually, I retired to my own home, where I was no threat to anyone."

"And it was while you were studying law that you met Fado Verlaine, is that right?" Robin asked.

"Indeed. I took advantage of a study abroad program that brought me to Ylisse, where I learned of the way Ylisseans practice law, and I met Mr. Verlaine, who became a good friend of mine. We stayed in contact after the program, and continued to meet well after we'd both passed our bar exams."

Lloyd's fingers cupped his chin. "So, I'm to gather that Mr. Weissman was motivated to murder Mr. Des—sorry, Mr. _LeBlanc's_ friend in order to harm him by proxy? That still seems a convoluted method of revenge, and one with very little evidence behind it, I'm afraid."

"You'll have your evidence, Prosecutor Reed," said Robin, "don't worry. Now that Mr. LeBlanc has revealed that critical information to the court, I'd like to present a piece of evidence that has been minimized since the beginning of this trial, but which now might have some greater significance."

"That's more like it." Lloyd crossed his arms.

Robin held up his cell phone. "Prosecutor Reed, you weren't present for the early stages of the trial, but I think the rest of the court will recall the message I received from the victim on the evening of his murder. I'll play it again for the court's convenience."

Robin fell silent as the recording played. The sharp noise rang out, unsettling the court again, then the white noise, and, finally, "Goodbye, LeBlanc."

Lloyd listened with his eyes closed. He didn't open them even after the recording finished. "And what are you suggesting with a message like that? It sounds like little more than a goodbye to you before the victim was murdered."

"That's what everyone assumed at first, even me," Robin said, "But didn't we just learn something that might recontextualize that message?"

"Something we… Oh!" Lloyd balled his fists.

"That's right. The final message in this recording… 'Goodbye, LeBlanc…' It wasn't addressed to me, but to Renault LeBlanc, the other man in the room at the time of the murder!"

"Ah!" the judge sputtered. "All this time, we never even imagined, and yet…!"

"Just a minute!" Lloyd shouted. "This is a pretty fantastical claim you're making. Tell me this: how do you know who the message is addressing?"

"This was the subject of some debate earlier in the trial," Robin recalled. "The idea that Fado would've called me in the middle of being murdered only to say goodbye seemed strange, and the sharp noise that we all heard at the beginning seemed to be a gunshot. Fado was shot in both the lungs and head, so it seemed impossible that he could've spoken, and yet, there the message was. Now we know the answer to that riddle."

"And what is that answer, exactly?"

"The reason why it seemed impossible for Fado to deliver that message was because… it _was_ impossible. Fado was already dead by the time this message was recorded!"

The crowd in the court chattered with surprise. "W-What? The victim was dead? So… it wasn't his voice after all?"

"Exactly. Fado had the foresight to know something was wrong, but, unfortunately, he wasn't clairvoyant enough to know what in time to prevent it. Sensing danger, he called my phone, hoping that whatever happened next would be captured by someone else. His assassin must have noticed that he was making a call for help, and struck first while the phone rang—that was the shot to the lung. As the message recorded, the second shot was captured, followed by the killer's escape!"

"The killer's escape? Where does a farewell message fit into that?"

"As I just explained, the final words spoken by the killer were addressed not to me, but to Renault LeBlanc. The killer held Renault in place until our witness, Shinon Tisamo, appeared to take over. Just before the door burst open, the killer hid, and darted out of the building when the opportunity presented itself!"

"So you think he restrained the defendant, hm? But what does that farewell have to do with anything?"

"It was a signal to Renault, that he'd been found out. Maybe that he was next."

"Signal? How can a mere farewell be a signal? A threat, I suppose, but there was nothing particularly revelatory about those words."

"Wasn't there? Think about what we just heard: until today, Renault was living under a false name. Who would've been in a position to know that his last name was really LeBlanc?"

Lloyd pondered it for a second, then looked up and clapped his hands. "I see now. So, that's your evidence, then: only someone deep-seated in the pre-Grimme Plegian government could have known the defendant's real name… Marvelous deduction, Mr. LeBlanc. If I were wearing a cap, I'd tip it to you."

Robin eased off of his desk and folded his arms. "So, do you accept that evidence, Prosecutor Reed? Will you let me call Gangrel Weissman now?"

"Not just yet. Your theory still has a few holes in it, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _I should've known. It's never that easy_.

"I'll accept the following without further deliberation: The killer was not Renault LeBlanc; the killer, not Fado Verlaine, gave Renault a final message that was recorded on your phone; and the killer must have been deeply involved in the Plegian government to know Renault's real name. With that said, I see only evidence for the assassin—Valter Mani, I believe you called him—to have been culpable. There remains nothing directly linking Mr. Mani's actions to Mr. Weissman."

"Gangrel Weissman is the means by which Valter Mani learned the defendant's real name," Robin answered. "I don't think it was possible for Valter to have learned it on his own. To my knowledge, he wasn't employed by the Plegian government until after Abdiel Weissman's assassination. We can check records, of course, but I imagine they'll be sparse with regard to Mr. Mani's employment."

"You make a good point," Lloyd concurred, grabbing his chin again. "However, an absence of proof to the contrary is not the same as confirmation—that is a fundamental principle of evidence. Speculation of the kind you've just stated isn't enough for me to budge on my position."

"Ugh! Jerk!" Morgan groaned to her employer, "You went through all that, and he's _still_ not going to cooperate?"

"It's not entirely his fault," Robin said. "I am making quite a stretch. It's only natural he'd ask for more evidence before accepting it. I think he really is trying to help us, but he's not going to make it easy."

"Fado wouldn't have it any other way," said Anna. "You remember what the prosecutor was saying at the beginning, about trials being a battle of wits between prosecution and defense? Fado said something similar. I asked him if it ever bothered him that Ephraim became a prosecutor instead of a defense attorney, and he said no. 'The truth is the truth,' he said, 'somewhere between prosecution and defense, a proper trial will always get there.'"

Robin smiled. "He was a strange guy sometimes, but you got the feeling he knew and experienced so much. Standing here, I think I'm starting to realize how _he_ felt. Is it weird to say I think I'm seeing clearer? My heart's pounding, and my skin's vibrating, but I don't mind it."

"Sounds like this is what you were born to do," said Anna.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Morgan asked.

"Now… I think I'll have to call in a favor. We'll give Lloyd all the proof he needs and then some!"

"Have you finished deliberating, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge asked, looking down at Robin.

"Yes, Your Honor. If Prosecutor Reed would like more evidence, I'm happy to oblige. I will require one additional witness to explain the details, however."

"No objections." Lloyd Reed snapped his fingers. "Bring this witness forward. Let's hear what you've got, LeBlanc."

"Your Honor, the defense would like to call Mr. Matthew Terras."

Mixed chatter erupted from the gallery again as Matthew stood up. Noticing him, the bailiff came to his side and escorted him to the front of the courtroom, where he took up the stand. He gave both attorneys a wry grin. The judge called for order, and the court quieted down again, far too intrigued to interrupt.

"Mr. Terras," said Robin, "could you please tell the court your occupation?"

"Sure," he replied with a nod, "I'm an informant in the employ of the Ostian national government."

"A spy from Ostia?" Lloyd remarked. "Well now, what a tangled web we're weaving. You've my respect. It must take a lot of guts to stand trial and admit that to the entire world."

"Today's trial is more important to me than my job. Or my life," Matthew replied.

"Don't let me stop you," said Lloyd.

"Mr. Terras, are you familiar at all with the assassination of King Abdiel Weissman of Plegia?" Robin asked.

"At least as much as anyone else, yes."

"And were you ever asked to collect information about that incident by your employers?"

"I was. I had a partner, and the two of us were assigned to investigate anything suspicious about the circumstances surrounding the king's death."

"Did you ever find anything suspicious?"

"We did. A name that vanished from the records. He was listed as a 'contract worker' and paid an exorbitant sum for 'preservation of works of national interest.' He was contracted up until the day of the king's assassination, and then never afterward. All the other employees on that list were retained, and there was no documentation claiming he'd ever been fired."

"What was that person's name, Mr. Terras?"

"Renault LeBlanc."

Murmurs leaked out from the gallery. The judge glared at them.

"It sounds like the information you uncovered supports what the defendant just testified to. Is that fair to say, Mr. Terras?"

"I'd say so. I have no reason to doubt that Mr. LeBlanc's testimony is the whole truth."

"All right. One last thing: Mr. Terras, you mentioned you had a partner. Who was that?"

"That'd be Ms. Leila Viscount."

"And is Ms. Viscount also available for testimony?"

Matthew frowned. "Of course not. You oughta know… she's dead. She was the victim in the first case where you ever stood trial."

Robin nodded. "That's true, and I do know. I wanted everyone in the court to be able to hear it, too, though. Can you tell me how Leila died, Matthew?"

"She was poisoned… in a café. An assassin, name of Naesala Scaltro, put poison in her coffee. He was almost arraigned at the trial for her murder, but he held the whole court up at gunpoint. Somehow, he managed to sneak a weapon into the courtroom, and he shot the defendant and used a hostage to escape. He was arrested later when a confidant gave him up."

"Why did Naesala Scaltro kill Leila?"

"To get access to our report. Our findings about the Weissman assassination. Leila was going to share the report with a Ylissean ambassador, to expose what had really happened. When she was murdered, the report was stolen. It was never found on Naesala's person, but it's assumed that he transmitted it to his employer before he was caught."

"So, anyone in possession of that report, or the information therein, would necessarily be connected to Leila's murder?"

"Absolutely."

"In your opinion, Mr. Terras, who would have the most to gain from stealing that report?"

"Considering it contains information on the biggest Plegian political scandal in decades, I'd say someone within the Plegian government would have the most use for it."

"Objection," called Lloyd, "the witness is speculating."

"I asked him for his opinion, Prosecutor Reed, nothing more."

"I'll let it stand for now, but I suggest you make your point now, if you have one, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge.

Robin bowed his head. "Yes, Your Honor." He turned to face Matthew again. "Mr. Terras, I'd like to ask you one more thing, if I can."

The witness shrugged. "I'm here as long as you need me."

"Do you recognize this symbol?" Robin held up the drawing that Henry had provided him.

Matthew stared at it intently. "Oh, yeah, I see. It's a symbol used by Plegian revolutionaries. People who are against the Plegian Reformation government that Validar Grimme leads."

"Would it interest you to know that Naesala Scaltro had such a symbol tattooed on his arm?"

Matthew's eyebrows jumped up. "Yes, it would."

"Is that true?" Lloyd demanded, leaning over his desk.

"Of course," said Robin, "It's all in his arrest records. They have a photo on file. I took a look at it myself."

"W-Well, now…" Lloyd muttered.

"Mr. Terras, do you think it would be fair to say that someone with that tattoo would need to have some connection to one of those revolutionary groups?"

"Definitely. I can't think of why else they'd have it."

"Just a moment," said Lloyd. "We can't conclusively prove that Mr. Scaltro obtained that tattoo because he worked with Plegian revolutionaries. He could've gotten it for any number of more innocuous reasons."

"I don't think so." Robin shook his head. "Wearing this symbol in public is illegal in Plegia. For that reason, I don't think just anyone would go around wearing it."

"It's true," the judge said, nodding slowly. "The very act of wearing the symbol on one's body is against the law. Tattoo artists in Plegia are not legally permitted to tattoo the symbol onto anyone for any reason."

"Is that right? Well, that _is_ curious…" Lloyd couched himself in his thoughts again.

"So, if you'll allow me to summarize, what Mr. Terras has told us is that he and his partner had already uncovered the secret that Renault LeBlanc revealed to the entire court not long ago, the truth of Abdiel Weissman's assassination, and that they planned to make the information public, but their evidence was stolen by Naesala Scaltro, who happens to have a tattoo that identifies him as a member of a group that is opposed to Plegia's current government. In other words, Naesala is connected to someone who wants to overthrow the Plegian government, and yet, the documents he stole are most valuable to someone already in the government… how could that be?"

"Hold on… how do you figure that they're most valuable to someone in the government?" Lloyd asked. "That doesn't make any sense. Surely any revolutionary group would get just as much use out of those documents."

"Would they? The Plegian government is pretty powerful. This report proves they're guilty of some pretty heinous things. It would be difficult for just any revolutionary to prove the legitimacy of such a document. If someone revealed they had the real stolen document, how easy would it have been for them to show the public before the government got involved? How many of them could have hired an assassin to steal the documents from an Ostian agent in the first place?"

"I see your point, but how are you planning to connect this to Gangrel Weissman?"

"If you think back to everything we've learned so far, it's the only thing that makes sense: someone opposed to the current Plegian government, with the power and authority to have lots of people acting under his will, who stole documents pertaining to the death of Abdiel Weissman. Anyone else who had both those documents and the willingness to overthrow the Plegian government would've spoken up about the truth by now. Anyone else who worked for the existing Plegian government would never have employed someone like Naesala to steal the documents, and, if that tattoo is any indication, Naesala never would've helped them. The only person who could currently have Matthew and Leila's report is someone in a protected position in the Plegian government, but who lacks the authority to rule over any part of it, and the only person who fits that description is Gangrel Weissman!"

"And if that's the case, just why would Mr. Weissman have withheld the information for so long?"

"To prepare himself. To begin a coup where he uses the report to undermine Plegia's current government, and tries to reestablish his own. A plan that could only work out once the truth of the situation was totally obscured!"

"'Totally obscured?' What are you getting at?"

"Earlier, you questioned why Gangrel, who knew Renault had murdered his father, would target Fado Verlaine instead of Renault himself. I think I've found an answer that will satisfy you: Renault testified that he and Fado became friends well before the documents were stolen, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"So we can assume that Fado knew about Renault's situation. And if someone looked into Renault's situation, it would be easy to guess that Fado knew about it, too, given their history. That means that outside of the Plegian government and Gangrel, only two people knew how Abdiel Weissman died. Until today, Renault never would have revealed that information, under threat of death. Fado, however, wasn't under the same restraints—he might have spoken out to someone if a situation arose, and that was something that Gangrel couldn't have, so he had Fado taken out before executing his master plan. _That_ is the real truth of this case!"

"A-Ah! I see!" Lloyd grunted. The gallery let out a round of shocked gasps and chatter before being silenced by the judge.

"Well, Prosecutor Reed, what do you think of my evidence?" Robin asked, laying one of his hands on his desk.

Lloyd Reed took a deep breath and smiled again. Then he let out a laugh. A hearty, sharp laugh that went on for several seconds. "Hah… All right, it's been fun putting you through the wringer like this… Very well, I concede that your argument has some merit. It's not fully developed, but I'm satisfied in seeing that you seem to have put at least _some_ thought into it."

 _Easy for you to say, Johnny-come-lately_.

"Your Honor," Lloyd continued, "I have at this time no further objections to the defense's earlier request. I join him in suggesting we bring Mr. Gangrel Weissman before the court as a witness."

"R-Really?" the judge stammered, "I've… never subpoenaed royalty before, but…"

Lloyd snapped his fingers. "I don't recall asking what you've done before. We're two attorneys asking that you deliver us a witness in the interests of justice. Don't waste my time with any hedging or self-saving prattle."

"V-Very well, then… I suppose I'll have to call a brief recess until the bailiff—"

"No," said Lloyd, "No recesses. Some pretty dangerous secrets have been passed around this room today, and I wouldn't want any valuable sources to suddenly… 'go missing.' Everyone stays in this courtroom until the bailiff brings Weissman here. End of story."

"That is not proper procedure, Prosecutor Reed," the judge said gruffly, rising from his chair.

"A lot of things about this case ain't proper, Your Honor," Lloyd replied, "starting with the Plegian government threatening a prosecutor with death. I don't take kindly to cowards like that. Your mealy-mouthed excuses aren't gonna get you out of rendering a proper verdict!"

"Eep!" The judge sat back down in his chair. Lloyd smirked.

The rest of the room was silent. Robin, Morgan, and Anna watched Lloyd at work on his end of the court, glad to not have his ire directed against them for once.

Lloyd looked at the bailiff. "Well? Did I stutter? Go get Weissman, and make it snappy! I'm sure someone's already told him all about this."

The bailiff saluted and ran off out the door.

"Well, now," Lloyd said as the room fell silent again, "what next? Staring contest? I Spy? I'm open to suggestions."

Anna laughed. Robin frowned at her. "I think I'd rather spend the time going over things with my co-counsel, if you don't mind," said Robin.

"Actually, I do mind," Lloyd said, "because there's one more thing I want to ask you, LeBlanc. Not as the defense, but as yourself."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "All right, go ahead."

"What made you decide to take this case?"

"What kind of question is that? Because my mentor was the one who was murdered."

"Exactly. And yet, here you are defending the man who the police said committed that murder. By now we know that's not true, but why didn't you just accept that story in the beginning."

"Because there was too much wrong with it. The evidence on the scene lent itself to different interpretations, the testimony didn't add up, and, at the time, the accused was closed-lipped about what happened, showing no intention to defend himself at all."

"I see… so you're drawn to these 'exceptional' cases. Yes, they're more stimulating for men like you and me, aren't they?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Someone with your discerning eye could tell at first glance that this wasn't a normal homicide. With those cases, so many of them are the same story—someone got in a fight, someone got drunk, someone hated someone else, someone owed someone else money… Cases like these, however… they have a certain air about them that attracts people like you and I. We can sense there's a deeper truth beneath them, like a gemstone at the bottom of a pile of slag."

"I guess. I hadn't really thought about it, though. I just looked for the truth and eventually found it was more complex than people initially believed."

"That's the other component, isn't it? Determination. Plenty of people are willing to believe a convenient lie to suit their needs, as long as it keeps them from encountering an uncomfortable truth. It's dull. Thankfully, we deal in nothing but unpleasant truths here in the courtroom."

"Do you have a point?"

"Not really, no. Nothing I haven't already said. I apologize for misjudging your character at one time, that's all. You're a worthy successor to Mr. Verlaine."

"Er… thanks?"

"You're welcome. Go ahead and chat with your employees now, I'm done."

Robin shrugged. He turned to Morgan and Anna, who looked equally confused.

"So," Anna started, "Gangrel, huh? That was your thought all along?"

"Not until yesterday, actually."

"You didn't know who it was until _yesterday_?"

"How could I? We were still figuring out the case until then. Once the facts were made ironclad, then I was able to theorize."

"And you came up with the former king of Plegia? Well, I can't fault you for being insufficiently bold, I guess."

"I know it's a big claim, but like I said, I also know that it's the only thing that makes sense. Plus, I've got something in my back pocket that I think will seal this whole thing if we can get close enough."

"If it's that important, why haven't you already presented it?"

"It'll only be effective as evidence if there's no doubt left in everybody's minds." Robin winked. "Gotta end on a high note."

"Heh. Now that's the old Fado mentality."

"How do you plan to make Mr. Weissman say what you want him to say, Boss?" Morgan asked. "I doubt he'll cooperate."

"That's true. He'll probably deny everything I throw at him, so I'll have to try to wrap him up in what we do know—not just from this case, but from every case related to him."

"And, uh, how many cases is that, exactly?"

"All the ones we've been through," said Robin, "Plus the ones that were just me."

"You think he's involved in _every_ case you've taken?"

"Almost definitely, yes."

"What makes you think that?"

"All the information we've gathered so far. Especially everything that Renault told us. I think Gangrel had another motive in all this business, beyond ousting Plegia's Reformation government. He wanted to make people suffer."

"Suffer…?"

"Look over the court record one more time with me, okay? I want to make sure I've got everything memorized down to the letter when he gets up there." Morgan complied, staring with awe at the ever-growing folder as her employer placed it on the desk with a thud.

[November 9th, 12:11 pm, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

The doors to the courtroom squeaked as they opened. Everyone in the court instantly turned their heads to the noise and saw the bailiff bringing forth none other than the rightful heir to the Plegian throne. Gangrel Weissman wore a black suit with a simple white shirt underneath, plus a mustard-yellow tie and accompanying pocket square. There was nothing especially unique about his outfit. By contrast, his face was sharp and angular, and ashen-gray in color. His hair was maroon, and wound into wild curls that rolled freely away from his head. He had a pencil-thin beard of the same color. Beyond all that, however, he bore a smirk more wicked than any Robin had ever seen. The whiteness of his teeth was chilling.

The judge cleared his throat. "Order, please, ladies and gentlemen. The trial of Renault Desombres will now reconvene. We will begin to question the witness without further delay."

"Too right," said Lloyd. "Why don't you tell the court your name and occupation, witness?"

"My name is Gangrel Weissman," he said, "and I am the prince of a Plegian government that is no more. I have no occupation, other than lamentations over the loss of my home. I live on a small reservation provided by the Plegian government and buy groceries with a modest monthly stipend."

"Do you know why it is you've been summoned here, Mr. Weissman?" asked Lloyd.

"I do," he said, curling his tongue. "The defense attorney there seems to think that I am somehow capable of hiring an assassin to murder some old lawyer I've never heard of in some elaborate scheme to take over the entire Plegian government. And you dolts were willing to believe him." The former prince glared toward the back of the room. "Honestly, I was just in the middle of perusing my morning paper when these policemen stormed in and dragged me away, and for what? A scrawny punk with a chip on his shoulder?"

"I took my time establishing my credibility to the court, Mr. Weissman," said Robin. "That's why you're here to testify now. If you really weren't involved, it should be easy for you tell the court as much and walk away."

Gangrel's eyes grew sharp and cold as icicles. "I really loathe having my time wasted like this. Start talking. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can leave."

"All right, then. Mr. Weissman, do you know Valter Mani?"

"Never heard of him."

"And Naesala Scaltro?"

"No idea."

"Fado Verlaine?"

"Not in the slightest."

"And what about Caellach Broduin?"

"Haven't the foggiest. Look, you can read off as many names as you want, lawyer. I don't know anything about them or this case."

"How about Lyon Mulroy? Or Tharja Anderra? Or Oliver Pope? Or Sonia Verdun?"

"Wh-What…?"

"That's enough, Mr. LeBlanc," said Lloyd, "I'll let you do your questioning, but you can't just go shouting names at the witness all day. Ask a real damn question."

"Have you ever heard of Renault LeBlanc, Mr. Weissman?"

"Hey! I _just_ said—"

"This one's important! Mr. Weissman, do you know who Renault LeBlanc is?"

"No, I don't."

"You don't know the name of the man who murdered your father?"

"What are you on about? As far as I'm aware, Ashnard Daein was the one who killed my father."

"And yet, we have the sworn testimony of Mr. Renault LeBlanc himself saying that you looked him in the eyes after he killed your father."

"I don't know what to tell you other than that I know nothing about any such incident."

"Fine, then. If you want to play it this way, then we'll play it this way." Robin folded his arms. "Mr. Weissman, please tell the court what you _do_ remember about the day your father died."

"You want me to talk about something that happened that many years ago? You really think you'll get any valuable information about that?"

"Well, you've left me in a bind, Mr. Weissman. You refuse to tell me about anything I ask, saying you don't know anything about it. Now I have to ask you to tell me about something you _do_ know if I'm going to give the court something useful."

He shrugged. "Fine. You'll fail anyway, so what does it matter to me? All I can tell you is that I was quite young. I traveled to one of my father's estates with him. I believe he told me that it was to prepare for a fruit harvest, but I know that was untrue. Really, he'd most likely heard of the assassination those Ylissean dogs prepared for him, and that drove us into hiding."

"'Ylissean dogs,' you say? Do you know for a fact that your father's assassin was Ylissean? And that there were multiple people present?"

"Don't be a fool. Of course I do."

"And how do you know that?"

"The official report of my father's assassination says that he was killed in a coordinated strike by insurgents from Ylisse, particularly known polemic Ashnard Daein. Those are the absolute facts as I know them."

"And could you, personally, tell that there were multiple people around?"

"I heard many sets of footsteps in the dark. There's no way only one person could have been involved, if that's what you're suggesting."

"Not at all, actually. I agree with you on that point. Now, tell me this, did you ever see Ashnard Daein's face, that you can recall?"

"No… the area was dark. Even if I did see him, I wouldn't be able to recall his face at this moment."

"You didn't see his face? You wouldn't know if you did, hm?"

"Th-That's what I said! Are you deaf, or just stupid?"

Robin frowned. "Mr. Weissman, it seems like what you're telling me is that you can't prove that Ashnard Daein killed your father."

"What are you talking about? Of course he did! I told you the Plegian government's official findings, didn't I?"

"And yet, this court has just heard sworn testimony that runs counter to those findings. Renault LeBlanc has admitted to the murder of Abdiel Weissman before the law. What do you think this means?"

"Nothing, as far as I'm concerned! I don't care who's confessed to what. As far as I can tell, you've yet to state anything that even suggests I'm involved in this matter, let alone proves as such."

Anna shook her head. "Doesn't seem like you're making much progress."

Robin nodded. "Yeah, he's pretty obstinate. The biggest obstacle is that I don't have anyone else who can prove that he met with Renault. If there was evidence of that, we'd be ready to go."

"But, like you just said, there isn't," said Morgan.

"…Thanks for your help, Morgan."

"S-Sorry! I was just thinking that maybe that line of questioning is a dead end. We know what Mr. LeBlanc told us, but nobody can speak for Mr. Weissman except himself. But there are other things we can ask him about, right? Things that more people than just him can verify, you know?"

Robin pinched his chin. "As a matter of fact, I think I do know. Good job, Morgan. You make a very good point."

She grinned. "Just doing my best."

"Mr. Weissman," Robin said, "let me ask you about something else, if I may."

"Whatever you like, just as long as we can wrap this up quickly."

"Are you now, or have you ever been a member of a counter-revolutionary organization? A group that's opposed to Plegia's Reformation government?"

The witness rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not, and I never was."

"Interesting. That's not what Lyon Mulroy told me."

"Wh-What? What do you mean? Who told you—"

"Lyon Mulroy, a convicted murderer. A murderer for whose conviction I'm partly responsible. I had a chat with him while I was in Plegia. While we spoke, he made it clear to me that you, Gangrel Weissman, were involved in just such an organization. Not only that, but he told me you were personally involved in giving him the kill order!"

"R-Ridiculous! I did no such thing!"

"Is that right? How about if I were to bring him in to testify? How would you feel about that?"

"N-No! I object! I refuse! Prosecutor, tell him he's not allowed to do that!"

Lloyd Reed shrugged. "I don't see why he shouldn't. It's related to the issue at hand. I say the more evidence the better."

"What?! What sort of useless prosecutor are you?!"

Lloyd narrowed his eyes. "Careful. I've cut down better men than you for saying less."

"You honestly think I'd fear you…!" Gangrel balled his fist and glared right back at the prosecutor. "Heh. This is nothing. No matter at all. I'll make sure to have you reported to the proper authorities when this farce of a trial is over."

"Report me?" Lloyd shrugged. "What, exactly, are you gonna tattle on me for?"

"You're colluding with that one over there," said Gangrel. He pointed at Robin, but maintained eye contact with the prosecutor. "You think I can't tell, but it's quite obvious. You know exactly what you're doing."

"I'm not colluding with anyone but Lady Justice," Lloyd replied. "You probably don't know her. She's a sweet girl, but blind, and fickle as all hell. Her sword cuts down sinners with frightening aplomb. And right now, it's leveled at you. So I'd suggest you either keep talking, or move out of the way for someone who will, 'Your Highness.'" This last remark was accentuated with an overly sarcastic bow.

"F-Fine," Gangrel growled. "We don't need another witness. Some of what you've said is true, I have had contact with revolutionary groups. I'm at odds with the way the Reformation government rules, like many Plegian citizens. That doesn't mean I'm connected to this murder in any way, though. If that Mulroy fellow told you I was involved in any assassination orders, he's lying. There's no proof of anything like that."

Robin smiled. He finally had his break.

"Did Mr. Mulroy really tell you that?" Morgan asked her employer. "I don't remember him saying anything about Gangrel specifically."

Robin shook his head. "No, he didn't, but he didn't need to. I've been making plenty of inferences through this whole case, so, in this instance, all I needed was to make a little gamble. And it looks like I won."

"Gamble?"

"Yep. Gangrel obviously knows more than he's letting on, and he knows that _I_ know that, so this cross-examination just boils down to a game of me forcing him to admit what he knows. What he _doesn't_ know is what I've been up to, so if he thinks Lyon spilled the beans, he's not going to risk letting me have Lyon testify in his place, even if he doesn't believe I'm telling the truth."

Morgan cocked an eyebrow. "I _think_ I get it…"

"Bit odd to use the phrase 'spill the beans' in reference to a murder plot," Anna observed.

"If you've got a better idiom, I'm all ears," said Robin. Anna took a second to actually consider it, then shrugged.

Robin turned to face the gallery. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, now that Mr. Weissman has admitted his involvement with a revolutionary group, I'd like to present you all with some evidence."

"Finally," said Lloyd Reed, folding his arms.

"First, this symbol." Robin held up the drawing Henry had sketched for him. "This symbol is an emblem used by the largest revolutionary group in Plegia. Everyone except Mr. Weissman saw it earlier when I showed it to Mr. Terras. You'll recall that bearing the symbol in any way, including tattoos, is illegal in Plegia, meaning that no one would wear it if they weren't involved with the group. You may also recall that the assassin Naesala Scaltro had just such a tattoo on his arm. What you don't know is that Naesala Scaltro is not the only assassin I've spoken to who bears this mark. I've also spoken to Lyon Mulroy, as I mentioned before, and Henry Laffer, who was responsible for the murder of Linde Miloah. Those two both told me interesting and similar stories: they were approached by someone bearing this symbol who eventually told them to commit murder, and they ended up doing exactly that. By contrast, I also had the chance to speak to Tharja Anderra, who was similarly approached, but didn't accept the offer. As a result, she was instead drugged and pinned as the scapegoat for a murder committed by Lyon Mulroy. Luckily, in her case, I was able to successfully defend her."

"So, there's a pattern. A methodology to this rash of assassins," concluded Lloyd.

"Exactly. And it's not just their recruitment that's similar—think of their targets. Naesala murdered a foreign spy with information that would have vindicated a Ylissean terrorist. Lyon murdered a decorated Ylissean war veteran. Henry murdered a beloved priestess of the Ylissean church."

"Killing Ylisseans of import in the name of opponents of Plegia's current government? Feels like there's a crossed wire there somewhere."

"It does, doesn't it? Think about this: the last war between Ylisse and Plegia ended during Abdiel Weissman's rule, but well before his assassination. The assassination was internationally reviled as an act of terrorism that Ylisse should have controlled, and yet, in the wake of everything… what did Plegia do about it?"

Lloyd waited a few seconds, then looked around. "Are you asking me? I don't know of anything they did, specifically."

Robin nodded. "Exactly. Tensions between the countries were at an all-time high, and Plegians desperately wanted revenge for their slain king. But Validar Grimme never imposed any significant penalty on Ylisse for the action. We know why now—strong sanctions would lead to an investigation, an investigation would lead to the truth, and the truth would lead to Validar Grimme's reign collapsing. So he stayed silent, despite his citizens' desires. Plegian citizens wanted to punish Ylisse, but Validar didn't."

"I get the essence of what you're saying, but what's your point?" Lloyd asked.

"Consider our current case, and see what you think: here we have a Ylissean highly involved in his country's legal system, and a Plegian citizen who, it just so happens, was responsible for King Weissman's assassination who ended up getting the blame for the murder."

"The victim was Ylissean… so, you're saying…"

Robin tapped his index finger on his forehead. "The conclusion I've reached is that Fado Verlaine's murder was not orchestrated by the Plegian government."

"Hang on a second," Lloyd protested, "be more specific. We all know that Fado was murdered by Valter Mani, right? That's not in dispute. But Valter _was_ an agent of the Plegian government. I thought earlier you were saying only someone high-up in that government structure could've been responsible for ordering Fado dead."

Robin nodded. "And that remains true. But the government itself couldn't have been responsible for it. That would be at odds with everything we know as of now."

"I see… someone high-up in the government, but who doesn't share its interests… I see what you're getting at."

"No matter how we talk this issue through, all the evidence we have leads up to only one logical conclusion: that Gangrel Weissman was the one who orchestrated this plot!"

Gangrel shook his head. "Is that really all you have to say? We've been talking in circles for so long, and all you can do is return to the same assumptions and suppositions you've been blabbering about from the beginning? When do you plan to present this court with any real evidence? Any real proof? If you really think I'm responsible, then _show_ us why, dammit! I've already wasted so much of time in this frivolous trial!"

Murmurs began to fill the court.

"It really does feel like we're getting nowhere, doesn't it, Boss?" said Morgan. "We keep trying to prove everything we can, but there's just not enough to latch onto."

"Well, I have been holding on to a 'secret weapon' of sorts. I wasn't sure how relevant it would be, or when it would be best to use it, but… seeing where we are now, I think it's appropriate. We've established everything we can with mere words, so now's the time to go for the throat."

"Secret weapon? Really?"

"So secret _I_ don't even know what you're going on about," Anna added.

"Mr. Weissman, I appreciate your patience through these proceedings," said Robin. Gangrel rolled his eyes. "I promise, I only have a few more questions for you."

"Go on, then. It won't make a difference."

"Do you own a deck of cards, Mr. Weissman?"

"Oh, what in the—how could that _possibly_ be relevant?!"

"For once, I share His Majesty's skepticism," Lloyd added. "Where are you going with this?"

"As the other members of the court may recall, there was the matter of a conspicuous switching of a particular card that was clasped in Fado's hand at the scene. A tarot card was switched out for a Ylissean playing card."

"And what does that have to do with me? As I understand it, I'm not suspected of committing the murder myself."

"That card led me to the conclusion that there had been someone else in the room at the time of the murder, because it was a tarot card. There was a deck of tarot cards right beside the table where the victim and the defendant played their game, but they played exclusively with Ylissean cards. If either of them had swapped a card out before or after the game, it would've been obvious, and the situation wouldn't have played out like it did. It has since been the defense's position that the assassin Valter Mani swapped that card. Caellach Broduin testified that their plan had been to use the card as a signal—that one of the players would eventually draw the tarot card from a stacked deck, and that the person who drew it would be the target."

"Is that even possible?" asked Lloyd. "How would he have gotten it into the deck before the murder? How could he be sure the right person would draw that card?"

Robin shook his head. "He couldn't. It wouldn't have been possible to do it that way without someone's cooperation."

"Are you about to suggest _another_ person was involved in this killing?" Gangrel shouted in disgust.

"Not at all," Robin replied, "It also became clear through the course of Mr. Broduin's testimony that he was stretching the facts. Originally, he claimed _he_ was the one who murdered Fado in order to muddy the truth, but evidence quickly made his deception obvious. However… it was also clear that he wasn't completely lying. I think that card really was a signal."

"What? But you just explained how it was impossible for it to have been used as a signal for the murderer!"

"That's just it," said Robin, wagging his finger, "it wasn't a signal for the murderer, it was a signal for the assassin's employer!"

"Wh-What?! What makes you think that?" Gangrel scoffed.

"It took a lot of careful consideration, but I never would have realized the problem without the help of a friend and expert in tarot, Ms. Tharja Anderra. She pointed out that if you look closely at the tarot card, you'll notice something odd about it: the orb that the Emperor is holding on that card is cracked in a way that isn't consistent with most Plegian tarot card designs."

"And what does that matter? A different design?"

"I wasn't sure what to make of that, either, but as my theory of the case developed, I got an idea, and I asked Ms. Anderra to check on it. Before I get into that, however, I want to make note of one more thing: Mr. Weissman, you said you were reading your newspaper this morning when the police approached you, is that right?"

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me of my disruptive morning."

"Did any of the officers happen to take that paper with them?"

"Wh-What? Why?"

"Three days ago, the front cover of the Ereb Times featured a photo of the crime scene along with a report on the murder. What's interesting about that is that the photo didn't show much of the scene besides the card in Fado's hand, which was in the center of the frame. Of course, there wouldn't be anything like that on today's paper. And it'd be odd if you were looking at a three-day-old newspaper this morning, wouldn't it?"

"Really?" Gangrel shrugged. "We've come this far, and _that's_ what you have to show for it? A newspaper?"

"I didn't get a chance to mention what Ms. Anderra found."

"A-And that is?"

"Mr. Weissman, I'm sure you know that at one time, the Plegian royal family was very much into mysticism. At one point, they apparently even practiced fortune telling. For that purpose, the family was given a special gold box filled with a set of tarot cards, to be passed down from each lineal descendant. It's a very special set of cards believed to hold magic powers, which is why no one is allowed to see them but the royals themselves… well, until recently, that is."

"W-What are…? Oh no, you are not _seriously_ …"

"The tarot card that appeared in Fado's hand, and on the front page of the Ereb Times… it was _yours_ , Gangrel Weissman!"

"Th-That's not…! No! That's ridiculous! You don't have any proof of any of that!"

"The royal tarot cards are a well known tradition. When I spoke with Renault, he even mentioned specifically seeing their container on the nightstand the evening he killed your father."

"That never happened!"

"And then there's the matter of that newspaper… Prosecutor Reed, would you accept a request for the police to retrieve the newspaper Mr. Weissman was reading?"

Lloyd shrugged. "It's no skin off my nose."

"Hm… Mr. LeBlanc's theory is a curious one, but I cannot say that I am entirely unconvinced by it," said the judge, "in the interest of equality of justice, I suppose we must investigate it—"

"Shut up!" The heads of everyone in the courtroom whipped over to Gangrel, whose once composed frown had descended into a long and jagged scowl. "You useless, idiotic, sham of an excuse for an officer of justice! All you've done is arbitrate over the collusion between these two half-witted shysters! This entire courtroom is nothing but a monument to iniquity and incompetence! I refuse to tolerate it any longer!"

"N-Now, just a moment," said the judge, "I can't have you making such outbursts, or I'll—"

"You'll what? Hold me in contempt? You're lucky I don't hold _you_ in contempt! It wasn't long ago, I'd have _owned_ you! _Everything_ in this court is mine to control, you understand?"

"That's not how the law works, Mr. Weissman," said Robin.

"And _you_ …! You're going to tell me how the law works? You'd dare to disgrace my nation with all your Ylissean swagger, knowing that your own countrymen killed my father and left me with _nothing_?! _You_ , of all people, are going to tell _me_ what is and isn't law?!"

"I'm afraid I must, since you seem to have forgotten."

"Oh, yes, _very_ good. Very clever, you've enraptured every one of these simpering fools with your silver tongue, from the prosecution to the judge, but not me! I'm not fooled! You haven't said one damned thing that's the slightest bit provable! I have nothing to do with this murder, and that is _final_! I _defy_ you to prove otherwise!"

Morgan looked around the courtroom. The entire room had become silent, their attention directly squarely upon Robin and Gangrel. Even the jury seemed to be eyeing them both with equal suspicion. Robin's fist tensed.

"That's right," Gangrel said with a smile, "you have nothing to say, because you know the truth is that you can't prove anything. You managed to fool others with your theories and your posturing, but as soon as you come up against someone who knows how to think for himself, you're at a loss. You can herd the sheep all day, but you have no hope of controlling a wolf like me, _LeBlanc_."

"This looks serious," said Anna. "Robin, you have to say something. He's swinging the momentum back in his favor."

"B-But… he's right," said Robin, "I… don't actually have hard evidence, just speculation and theory… D-Dammit! My whole body's freezing up again…!"

"Boss!" Morgan pleaded, "What you have isn't just speculation! You put so much thought into all this, you can't just back down now! Mr. Verlaine would you to grow from what you experienced! You have to push back against your fear! Think about what's more important, like you helped me do!"

"Grow from what I experienced… what's more important…" Robin weighed those statements upon his tongue.

"Come on, boy!" Gangrel jeered, "Speak up! It's time for you to reveal your elegant reasoning to the court! Or are you hesitating because they'll all realize what a fraud you are?!"

Robin nodded. "The truth… is that I have no empirical evidence upon which to indict Mr. Gangrel Weissman."

Gangrel laughed. "Exactly as I thought! This entire charade has been a tremendous waste of time, and anyone who believed this lawyer was as much of an ignorant fool as he is himself!"

"But, in this situation, I've got an advantage you don't have, Mr. Weissman. I've stripped away all your power?"

"HA! 'Stripped away my power?' What are you going on about?! As you can clearly see, my power has never been greater! Everyone in this room acknowledges that my influence is greater than yours! You have _nothing_ , LeBlanc! _Nothing_!"

"And by coming in here, you've lost your power of coercion."

"Haha—er, what?"

"This whole time, I've been accusing you of criminal conspiracy. I've never once brought in any of your co-conspirators, fearful that they may refuse to testify. But it's just occurred to me that now, while you're on your last legs, with enough of them here, their allegiances might start to turn."

"Wh-Wh-What?"

"We all know that Valter Mani committed this murder. He could be sentenced to death for such a heinous crime. But… what if he delivered key testimony that put away the man really pulling his strings? The court might show him clemency and only give him life in prison at that point."

"N-No, he wouldn't…! I… that is, there's no one else for him to testify about! He's the murderer! Anyone else he'd implicate would be a lie! An excuse!"

"What if I were to ask Naesala Scaltro himself?"

"H-Huh?!"

"What if I asked Naesala Scaltro who asked him to steal those documents from Leila Viscount? We've already conclusively established that that person would clearly also be implicated in this murder."

"N-No, that's not true…! That has nothing to do with…!"

"Oh, really? Then let's do it! What do you say, Mr. Weissman? Let's bring Naesala Scaltro and Valter Mani in to testify, if you're so sure!"

"Y-You… you can't do that…! Their word isn't to be trusted! They're criminals!"

"Criminals with nothing left to lose. And the word of both of them is enough to verify the truth. But, of course, there are more witnesses I could bring in, aren't there?"

"N-No, there's no one…!"

"No one? Not even Lyon Mulroy? He wouldn't say anything if he saw your face? And what about Oliver Pope, the man you've been using to extort from others for years?"

"I haven't… That's not…!"

"Or what about Henry Laffer, Mr. Weissman?" Robin's eyes burned.

"He's… there's no one…!"

"There's no point in trying to deny it. You're only going to delay the inevitable!"

"H-How dare you…!"

"The only thing I need to do, in order to bring this case to its conclusion, is the same thing that Fado did—to be bold, and to trust those around me to do their part."

"Be bold… trust…?" Gangrel's face screwed up.

"I share the witness's confusion," said Lloyd, "What do you mean by that remark, LeBlanc?"

"I mean that it took me a while, but I finally understand what Fado was doing on the evening of the crime. He took two crucial and very dangerous steps that led to this case's resolution."

"And what were those?"

"First, the recording: Fado must have sensed danger while he was sitting at the table. Since we know now that Valter was hiding in the rafters of the room where he and Renault were playing cards. At some point, he must have noticed Valter, and that was when Valter decided to strike."

"What makes you so sure that Fado noticed him?"

"If you look at the record, you'll note that Ephraim and I discussed at some length the fact that two shots were fired at the scene—the first, a shot to the lungs, would've been fatal, but only after some time. The second was a headshot that killed Fado instantly. Valter Mani, hiding in the rafters, had the advantage of both height and surprise on Fado, and the distance between them was fairly small. Scoring a clean headshot from that vantage point would've been child's play for anyone, even someone who barely knew how to fire a gun. And yet, Valter missed his first shot by a wide margin, striking Fado about a foot below his brain. How could he have missed so badly? The only reasonable explanation is that he was caught off-guard."

"I see. Hm… that does stand to reason. Keep going."

"At the point that Fado noticed Valter, he could've done anything. We can't say what would or wouldn't have worked, but the fact is, there were plenty of moves for him to make. His choice was to make a call… a call to me."

"That's right, he called you, but you were asleep, and failed to answer it, right?"

"Right. And as a result, Fado was shot in the lung just before my answering machine picked up. He was silently dying as Valter prepared his second shot, but he made one more move to get his message across, knowing what was about to happen. That's where the tarot card comes in."

"Hold on a moment, I thought you told us that the tarot card wasn't present until after the crime had been committed—that neither of the players had switched it out."

"And I stand by that theory. But there's an earlier component to the mystery of the cards that only recently started to make sense. And now, we have it laid out before us. On the first day of this trial, we counted the cards in both the Ylissean and Plegian decks in the room—the Plegian set was never touched by the players, because they used the Ylissean set. Despite that, one thing became perfectly clear: prior to being killed, Fado was holding a king of diamonds in his hand, and an Emperor card was missing from the tarot deck. After quickly calling me and taking a bullet, Fado made one last ploy to send a message about his attacker: he took the king card he was holding, and clenched it in his fist so that everyone would know who was responsible."

"He was… clutching the king? But he was definitely holding an Emperor card when the body was found, right?"

"Exactly. Valter was planning to leave the Emperor card as his signal for completing the murder—a unique message that only the true architect of the murder would recognize, so that he'd know exactly what had happened when the card was shown in the newspaper. He must have also realized, however, that Fado was trying to send a similar message by holding the king. To fix that, Valter switched the king out with the Emperor card he was planning to use as a signal."

"And what about the Emperor card from the Plegian deck? You said that was missing, too."

"That's true. And we know thanks to Tharja that the design of the Emperor card Fado was holding didn't match the design of the rest of that set. But still, that set's Emperor was nowhere to be found. Suppose, however, that Valter removed that card from the deck and left with it to create the very confusion that resulted in the ensuing trial—making it look like one card had been swapped for the other, when, in fact, both cards had been swapped out for the one Valter held!"

"And then that arrogant bastard mocking Renault… it was caught on the message Fado's phone recorded before it cut out."

"Exactly." Robin nodded. "So, in his final moments, faced with an impossible multiplicity of decisions, Fado clearly made a final choice: rather than run or fight for his life, he chose to send a message to those who would discover his body. He placed his trust in me, and in Ephraim, to find the truth underlying his murder!"

Lloyd nodded thoughtfully. "I see, I see. Gutsy old man… He really did have a lot of faith in you. Glad to see it wasn't misplaced."

"Excuse me!" Gangrel shouted, "You two gibbering apes seem to have forgotten the reason why you're here! You have no evidence that the tarot card or _any_ of the events you're describing have the _slightest bit_ to do with _me_!"

Robin turned around and pointed his finger sharply at Gangrel. The sudden gesture made Gangrel lean back. "The point I'm making… is that I don't need hard evidence to put you away. I just have to follow Fado's example, and entrust others with bringing forth the truth!"

"Wh-What?"

"I know all about your tactics, Gangrel. Every killer I've interviewed has said the same thing—they said they'd never reveal their employer, because it would mean death for them. But then, something unexpected happened, didn't it? Something that didn't comport with your plan."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ephraim Verlaine, that's what! You were the one trying to keep him silent about Valter in the last part of the trial! But he decided, just like his father, that he wasn't going to be intimidated. He was going to do what he had to in order to reveal the truth to the world. And you didn't count on that. You spent so long abusing your position and hiding behind people stronger than you that you forgot that when you're put on the defensive, you lose those advantages. So… let's go back to my original suggestion. Let's bring in Naesala Scaltro, and Valter Mani, and every other person you've ever hired, and hear their testimony!" Robin slapped his palms onto his desk. "If you've told the truth, and they have nothing to do with you, then you shouldn't have anything to fear, right?"

"N-Now just a moment…! How can you be certain that any of them will tell the truth?! How can you believe their word?!"

"I don't have to just take their word for it. If my theory of the murder is correct, then Valter in particular should have some of that hard evidence I'm missing, shouldn't he?"

"Wha…? Valter… evidence?"

"That's right. Valter, who we've already established is the true killer, should have both the king and the Emperor cards from the murder scene. Not only that, but the king card, like the other cards Fado was holding before he was shot, should be marked with the victim's own blood! If he has those in his possession, then it should be clear that he switched them out for the tarot card. A tarot card which, we can confirm, could only have been given to him by one person." Robin thrust his finger out against Gangrel again, this time like a spear being jabbed into his foe's core. "So, it's time to answer, Gangrel! Whose side do you think Valter will come down on? Whose story do you think he'll support?! Without blackmail, with your scheme laid bare, what do you think he'll say if we invite him to the witness stand?! Time to hear it from your own lips!"

Gangrel's face fell to the floor, and he heaved a long sigh. "So… that's it then, eh? One way or another… I'm ruined, aren't I?"

The court fell deadly silent.

"You admit it, then?" Robin asked.

Gangrel lifted his head, a smile on his face. He laughed dryly, expelling all the air from his lungs. "Yes, why not? You're completely right, you know? Absolutely, completely, entirely right! Down to the very last detail! There's no use in fighting it… it's all true! I orchestrated the murder of Fado Verlaine through Valter Mani! There's no doubt about it!"

Chatter consumed the courtroom until the judge sounded off with his gavel, demanding order.

"So, you finally decided to come clean," said Lloyd. He leaned aggressively at Gangrel. "The blade of justice will rush swiftly for your neck."

"I suppose it will… haha! Oh, well. I'd grown quite tired of living this way at any rate. I'll be escaping this worthless life one way or another!" He looked over at Robin and smiled a fierce crocodile's grin. "So, you've done it, young attorney! Rejoice! You foiled my little plan! Of course, in so doing, you allowed you mentor to die, and jeopardized the political stability of this country by revealing that it conspired to hide the truth of the death of its own rightful ruler. Once that news disseminates to the rest of the nation… heheh! Things are going to get a lot more interesting around here. In a way, my plan has already come to fruition, even if I won't be around long to witness it! And I have you to thank for it! Oh, and thank you I have…! Yes, indeed, I've thanked you oh so much for _all_ the wonderful things you've given me, haven't I? Hahahahahaha!"

Anna frowned sympathetically at Robin. "What is he talking about?"

"So, that's all true, too," said Robin.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Gangrel laughed. "Want to hear me confess to it? It was me! I hired Henry Laffer to kill Linde Miloah, and to blame it on you! I hired Naesala Scaltro to kill Leila Viscount, and to blame it on Pelleas Apoleus, and sent him to you as a client! And the prosecutor in that case? She was on my payroll, too! The entire case was a bear trap for you! And _then_ when you scraped by _that_ one, I hired Lyon Mulroy to murder Harken Gaetz and blame it on Tharja Anderra! All along, every time, it's been me, me me! And you know _exactly_ why, don't you?"

"Boss," Morgan said, tugging on his suit, "is this to do with what Mr. LeBlanc said? About you coming to the school…?"

"But there's one more thing you _don't_ know. One thing about how you ended up at that school!"

Robin stared straight ahead, channeling all his energy into his tensed fists.

"Why do you think Valter Mani agreed to work for me in the first place? He was an agent of the Reformation government, so why would he trust me? Hehe… It's because we knew each other from before! He did some _work_ for me just after you were born! Can you guess what it was? Hehehehahahaha!"

Lloyd snapped his fingers. "I've heard enough of this fool's rambling. Let's get him fitted for his new jewelry and be on our way with the verdict."

Gangrel ignored him. He continued to leer at Robin. "So, how does it feel, Robin LeBlanc? Every moment of your life, you shared the same suffering I did! You endured pain and hardship, and so, _so_ much sorrow, all because you never really knew what was happening _right under your nose_. How do you feel about your terrific powers of deduction now?! How does it feel to have lived a life of meaningless suffering?!"

Robin shook his head. "I feel just fine."

"W-What?!"

"Despite what you've said, Gangrel, my life isn't meaningless. And it hasn't just been suffering. True, I've had difficult times. Times of great pain. And it hurt even more to not know why I seemed to be the target of so much pain. But in the end, I don't feel the despair you want to see in me. Despite everything you did to try to ruin my life, with the help of others who I learned to trust and rely on, I pushed through those hard times, and into happier ones. The painful moments… they've all passed on into distant memory already. But the people who've helped me along the way? They're all still here. They're all still making me happy. And they're all right beside me in this moment. The only one whose life has been wasted…" Robin pointed his finger. "Is yours. So much hate and vitriol, wasted on a person who never would've known you existed if you'd only been willing to let go of your grudge. If your goal all along was to make me suffer, then all I can tell you is that you've accomplished nothing."

Gangrel's fist tensed, and his eyes bulged. "I…! I-I…! This…! How could you…! Aghhh!"

Gangrel stared intently at the attorney pointing at him from across the courtroom, gritting his teeth. "You…" he hissed. He felt sweat dripping down his forehead. "You're nothing…! I…!" He turned to face the prosecutor, but only saw Robin pointing at him again. "What? You…! You're not…!" He looked out to face the jury, but only saw two more rows of Robin—the same face and figure, pointing back at him. He whipped his head around to face the judge—Robin. He spun around again to look for the bailiff—Robin. He turned to face the galley, breath catching in his throat. Before him, a sea of indistinguishable faces. Every single one of them a mop of combed white hair, a purple suit, and a finger pointed directly in his face. "No! No! This… this can't be…! You're…! You're…!" He punched the witness stand. "I hate you! Your filthy, smug happiness! I want to tear the smile from your snide face, you disgusting—"

"Give up," he heard Robin say.

"How dare you—"

"You're a waste of space." The voice echoed across the courtroom.

"You little—"

"You'll never take my place." The echoing continued a hundred fold.

"I'll kill you! I'll stamp you out! All of you! I deserve to be king! _ME_! I alone stand above all! I alone deserve the power! It's _mine_!"

"You don't deserve anything. You have no power." The voice had settled back down to just one. The first Robin, the one behind the defense bench, was marching toward him. The rest of the courtroom began to fall away. "You're just a sad, desperate little man."

"NO!" Gangrel cried out. The courtroom stared at him. He beat his fists against the witness stand. "I'm not…!" he muttered. "I'm the king! I have the power! You'll die for crossing meeeeeeeeeeee!" With that, his head dropped onto the stand and his legs gave out as his fists continued to pound away.

Lloyd snapped his fingers again. "A disgrace to the end. We're done here. Bailiff, hurry up and get this refuse out of my sight. And judge, take control of your damn courtroom, already!"

"R-Right!" the judge started. "Ahem. I will consider these proceedings concluded, barring any further objections from either counsel."

"The defense has said all it needs to say," Robin reported.

"Likewise," said Lloyd. His arms were crossed.

"Very well. I will now pause to confer with the jury and, in a moment, I will render my verdict."

A wave of energy passed over the courtroom as Gangrel was led out, still muttering to himself. Robin's muscles eased up for what seemed to be the first time in the entire trial. He collapsed onto his desk, supported only by his hands.

"Capital work, LeBlanc," said Lloyd.

Robin managed to pick his head up. "I… really? Er, well, I couldn't have done it without you."

"No, you couldn't have," said Lloyd Reed, smiling. "Remember that for next time. But, that said, the victory is clearly yours."

"And Ephraim's, too," Robin added. "This only happened because we all came together in pursuit of the truth." He turned to his side. "And then there's my co-counsel."

"Shucks," said Anna, flipping her hair.

"It was an exciting case, Boss!" Morgan cheered. "I don't know if I've ever seen anything so thrilling!"

"Thrills are all well and good," Robin agreed, "but I'd rather get to the end of the suspense." He looked up at the judge.

"Whatever happens, you did Fado's legacy justice," Anna told him. "No one can deny that."

Robin's attention turned to the courtroom's doors as the bailiff re-entered.

"Ah, good timing, bailiff," said the judge. "We're ready to render the verdict. Please bring the defendant before the court."

The noise in the courtroom settled to a low murmur, and then complete silence as Renault was led to the stand.

"Renault LeBlanc, for the murder of Fado Verlaine, by the power vested in me by the jury, I and this court find you… Not Guilty!"

Excited cheers rang out through the courtroom. Robin nearly collapsed a second time, but he was held up by a pair of tight hugs.

"You did it, Boss!"

"Congrats, Boss."

Lloyd Reed smiled and shut his eyes. After a moment passed, he turned around and left the courtroom.

Renault, too, smiled broadly, and stumbled as if something had just been removed from his shoulders. He looked to the ceiling and thought of Fado.

Light and celebration filled the room, and then gradually exited it as the bailiff tried to push the non-litigants out the door along with the defense team. Robin struggled as Morgan remained attached to his hip.

The judge himself reclined in his seat and placed his gavel down on his bench. "My, what a case," he said with a smile.

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Trial Day 3 – End]


	23. Turnabout in the Tower: Epilogue

[November 9th, 3:44 pm, Ereb District Court – Defendant Lobby]

Robin threw himself down in a chaise lounge, his skeletal structure only just barely holding together. Morgan stood right in front of him, and Anna joined her, not far away.

"I can't believe it, Boss!" Morgan gushed. "You fought through the whole thing, and the whole summary at the end, and, plus, you were so _cool_ when you told Gangrel off! It was amazing!"

"I'm glad I was around for this one, for sure," Anna agreed. "I don't think I've seen a trial that exciting since Fado's time."

Robin massaged his forehead. "When we get home, I'm taking a couple of aspirin, and avoiding that kind of excitement for as long as I can for the rest of my life."

"Aw, it'll find you again, Boss," said Morgan.

Robin's head rolled back. "You're probably right." He smiled anyway.

Renault appeared and broke in between them all. He stared straight at Robin, and the girls gave him room. "Mr. LeBlanc… feels funny to call you that now, but I want to give you my sincerest thanks."

"I think you can call me 'Robin' from now on. And you should be thanking Fado, if anyone. He knew just what was going to happen to you, and he prepared every last detail I needed."

"But you put it all together, lad. And he knew you could. That's why he called you."

Robin nodded wistfully. His expression turned a little more curious: "So, what are you going to do now, Renault?"

"After I told you what I knew, I made arrangements with an old army buddy to leave the country. There's no doubt Plegia will be seeing some political upheaval after all this, so I'm going to take that as my cue to bow out."

"Smart move. I imagine you want nothing to do with this place anymore."

"Not entirely. I have some fond memories here, in spite of everything that happened… but memories are all they are. I've got quite a future yet to think about, and none of it is happening here."

"I wish you all the best. Is there anything more the LeBlanc and co. Law Offices can do for you?"

Renault laughed. "I don't think so. I think Fado and his associates have done more than enough for me. But, if you'll allow me, there _is_ something I'd like to do for _you_."

"Oh?" Robin's eyebrows jumped. "And what's that?"

"Well, we never really covered the matter of payment for acting as my defense…"

"Oh, you don't need to worry abou—Ow!" Robin's voice was muffled as Anna slapped her palm over his lips.

"What my lovely employer means is you don't have to pay us anything outside your immediate price range, sir," Anna said.

"Well, I've got quite a bit of money from my old jobs, and I won't need all of it for my retirement," Renault continued. "I think you folks ought to have some, as payment for an extraordinary case, and as a gift to my truest friend." He scribbled a figure down on a check and handed it to Anna. "How does that look?"

Anna's eyes swelled. She grinned gleefully as she held the check. "Looks like a winner to me!"

"That's very kind of you, Renault," Robin said, now free from Anna's grasp. "Thank you so much."

"It's exactly what you deserve, my boy. Keep living up to Fado's legacy. That's what the world needs now."

"Yes, sir," Robin replied.

"But… don't forget to keep being your own man along the way, all right? You didn't come this far just by imitating him."

"Right. Yeah… I think things are going to be very different for the firm going forward."

"I look forward to hearing of your future success," Renault said. With that, he waved them all farewell and proceeded out the courtroom doors—as a free man for the first time.

Before the group could even settle again, Heather came forward, Matthew behind her. "Well, hello, Mr. Hero."

"Heather," Robin greeted her warmly, "I figured you'd just be on your way after the ruling."

"I may be secretive, but that doesn't mean I'm callous," she said. "You're owed a congratulations after an ordeal like that. Especially because… well, I think we've all gotten a lot of closure outta this whole situation."

"No kidding," Matthew agreed. "To think, all along, the guy behind Leila's murder was so easy to find—damn! It makes my blood boil a little. But that's not what matters right now—that guy's gonna fry anyway. Like Heather said, I figure I owe you my thanks, at least, for helping to sort this whole mess out."

"You got me my witnesses," Robin told him, "and you risked your job. It never would've happened without you."

"That does make me feel a bit better… Oh, and, speaking of jobs, I've been asked to invite you to join the Ostian Bureau of Investigations. What do you think? We could use a guy with your critical thinking skills."

"Tempting, but I'm a little too attached to my law practice now."

Matthew nodded. "I figured you'd say something like that. Oh, well. Can't say I didn't try."

"What'll happen to you two now?" Robin asked. "Heather, I imagine you can go back to work, but Matthew…"

"Don't cry for me, Mr. LeBlanc," Matthew said, "I'm not dead yet. I _will_ have to retire my mantle as a spy, but, from now on, I'll have a job in a more _official_ capacity with the OIB."

"I hope it's safer than your last one."

"You and me both. Now that it's all over… I could use a little break from this kind of action."

"I'll have some other affairs to attend to as well," Heather said, "but I'll never be too far away. Do keep in touch, all right?"

"Sure. Definitely."

"Oh, and… um… I'm sorry I was so short with you when we first met. If I'd had _any_ idea how this was all going to turn out, I'd have never—"

"It's all right. Believe me, I know exactly how you feel. Just promise to take care of yourself, and we'll be all square."

"I can do that. Oh, and, when I get a moment, I was going to place some flowers on Nephenee's grave. I've been telling her all about you, I'm sure she'd like it if you came along."

"I'll be there."

Both spies walked away in unison.

"Hehe," Anna giggled, "and here I thought she stopped in because she had a crush on you."

"Yeah… I don't think I'm quite as pretty as Nephenee."

"Certainly not."

Robin frowned.

Anna laughed. "Oh, come on, you know I'm just messing with you. You've got your own charms."

"Oh?" Robin leaned forward. "That's new. Go on, what are these charms of mine?"

"You're charmingly naïve, for one," Anna said, sticking out her tongue.

Lloyd Reed cleared his throat. The trio looked up at him.

"Oh, Lloyd!" exclaimed Robin. "I thought you'd taken off already."

"Thought about it, but I decided I wanted to size you up one more time before I left," he said. "I was wrong about you. And that's not something I say often."

"Did it bother you to lose again? It's obvious you weren't fighting me as hard as before," Robin replied.

"Nah. I'm done with that 'winning' and 'losing' stuff. We're lawyers, LeBlanc. We win when Lady Justice gets her due, and lose when she doesn't. That's all there is to it."

"Well said."

"It was you who helped me remember that. You wouldn't know this, growing up in Plegia, but my dad, Brendan Reed, was one of the most feared prosecutors in Ylisse during his time. For a while, I tried to follow in his footsteps. He was a good lawyer: stalwart, but honest, and even empathetic. But a convict he put away got loose and came after him… after that, my brother, Linus, and I fell in with a bad crowd. Linus got caught up in some drug business, and he ended up dead, too. That's when I returned to the prosecutor's office and swore that I'd bring down every scumbag they brought in there.

"I'm sorry…" Robin murmured. "I had no idea."

"Like I said, you wouldn't," Lloyd answered. "But that was my fault. I saw defense attorneys like you as mere extensions of their clients—cowards trying to wriggle free of justice's grasp. But you… damned if you didn't kick my ass back into reality. My dad would be ashamed of me for only caring about locking people up instead of finding out it they really did the deed."

"He sounds like a great man."

"He was… and I'm going to be just as great. Which is why the next time you and I meet in court, it's not gonna be quite so easy for you, understand?"

"As long as it's a fair trial, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lloyd Reed smiled once more. "Stay safe." He disappeared as quickly as he'd managed to materialize.

Robin watched him leave and checked the windows as the door closed. The sky was growing red, and cool air was washing over the building. The chatter from members of the gallery had died down to only a soft stream of white noise. Gradually, Robin picked himself back up. "All right, let's get back to the hotel and rest. We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us tomorrow."

[November 9th, 6:03 pm, Roncontra Hotel]

Robin was draped over the sofa. Morgan rocked side to side in a chair across from him, her eyes glued to the TV, which was currently tuned to the news. Of course, all the information was about the trial. Morgan watched the sketch of the defense bench flash on screen. She touched her hair. "It's not _that_ frizzy…"

Anna was on the phone, speaking with the utility companies for the office. Now that the case was over, her real work had begun again. Robin was all too pleased to leave that aspect of the job to her.

"Boss," Morgan said through a yawn, "how long do you think it'll be before I'm ready to stand trial with you for real? Like, as a lawyer?"

"It might be a while," Robin scratched his head, "you'd need to pass the bar, and I don't have the money to send you to law school. I'm happy to teach you what I know, but you'll probably need better tutelage than I can give…"

"Oh…"

"Er, but don't feel bad! We'll get you there, I promise. Besides, you've got plenty of growing up to do and fun to have before you turn boring like me."

That made Morgan giggle. She turned her attention back to the TV.

Seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

"That's probably our food," Robin said, slowly dragging himself off the sofa. He walked to the door and opened it, only to find Eirika behind it. "E-Eirika?" he started. "Oh, uh, come in!"

She did as she was invited and pulled up a chair from the dining table so she could sit between Robin and Morgan. "I wanted to stop by and give you my regards before I get back to work."

"Thanks, Eirika. But you didn't need to worry about us. You should focus on what you're doing. I mean, how's Ephraim?"

"It's probably better not to go into detail, but… he's safe. He won't be prosecuting for a little while, but I don't think he'll mind an extended vacation after all this."

"I hear that. Oh, and, um… have you, er… made arrangements for Fado yet?"

She nodded. "Getting there. I spoke with mom about the cemetery and the funeral. Oh, and, I hope you don't mind, but we're going to use a separate firm to execute his will."

"I don't mind at all. I doubt my work would be any good with my head still spinning like this."

Eirika smiled. "I'll be sure to pass along the details as they come in. As long as mom has me, and I have the kids, we'll get through it."

"Good to hear. If there's anything you need… anything at all…"

"I'll call in any favors I need. One more thing I'd like to know, though…" Eirika turned her head around to face Morgan. "How have things been with you, young lady?"

"It's been great, mom!" Morgan reported. "Mr. LeBlanc is a great boss, and he's been teaching me so much about law, even when it's late and I can tell he's super tired! Plus, he only asks me to clean the toilets once a week, and he lets me read his entire library of books as long as I put them back in order! And, of course, being in trials has been amazing!"

"Okay, okay!" Eirika laughed. "I think I get the picture. I'm glad you're happy with what you're doing. You think you wanna be a lawyer like Mr. LeBlanc?"

"You bet!" Morgan clenched her fists. "Seeing how amazing he is, I can't imagine doing anything else!"

"Good, sweetie," Eirika said, "that's very good to hear. Make sure you're nice to Mr. LeBlanc, and that you do what he asks of you, okay?"

"You say that like I'm not nice to everybody, mom."

"That's because I knew you when you became a teenager."

"Okay, so I had a rebellious phase…"

"I'm glad to see you're doing well, sweetie. I'm glad to see that everyone is doing well." She stood up. "But I think it's probably time for me to get going."

Robin rose, too. "It was good to see you, Eirika. Do you want me to walk you out?"

She blushed. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I can find the door on my own, thanks."

Robin scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry."

"Take care, everyone."

As soon as Eirika walked out, another figure slinked into the open doorway. Robin looked down at it: "Tharja?"

"Uh, hey," she mewled.

"Were you just… waiting out there?"

"Well, I was gonna knock, but then I heard so many voices and I figured you were busy, so I wasn't sure if I should just wait around, or knock, or come back another time, or…"

"Thank you," Robin said.

"Oh," she stopped, cheeks growing red. "Um, yeah. N-No problem. I'm glad that scumbag finally got what was his."

"No doubt. So, er… did you want to say something, or…?"

"Oh! Um… I just wanted to, uh… ask you… Um, you're heading back to Ylisse, right?"

"That's the plan."

"I just wanted to say, uh… I'm getting a new apartment in a few weeks. I figured I'd ask… um, are you sure you don't want to stay in Plegia?"

"That's a very kind offer, but… well, I can't just give up my law practice now. Plus, as much fondness as I have for Plegia, I think I can safely say that Ylisse feels more like home now. Not to mention, Plegia's going to be experiencing some changes soon. So, as a matter of fact, are you sure _you're_ okay staying _here_ , Tharja?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," she said. "I figured you'd want to leave, but I just thought I'd ask…"

"Let me know when you're all moved in, though, okay?" Robin said. "I'd love to come visit and talk about the old days."

She beamed up at him. "I-I'd like that, too." Her eyes darted away as she thought about something. "Um… just, for good luck, until I finish up… could I…?" She stretched out her arms.

"Oh, yeah." Robin reciprocated, wrapping her in an embrace. Tharja pressed her face into his chest and sighed contentedly.

As they broke the hug, Tharja looked up at him again, face even redder than before. "I'm glad I got to see you again… despite the circumstances."

"Likewise, Tharja," he said, "and I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that…" She drifted giddily back out the door.

Robin flopped back down on the sofa and looked at the TV. More trial news. Flashy red graphics covered the screen. Anna walked in as she hung up her phone. She eyed the door. "That delivery had better get here in five minutes, or they can forget about a tip."

[November 10th, 12:48 am, Roncontra Hotel]

Robin rolled his head over to the other side of his pillow. It was no use, of course. How could he possibly sleep on a night like this? His heart and head were still racing, albeit, perhaps, in different directions. To one end, he had avenged Fado—no, more accurately, he'd gotten justice for Fado. That was more important. He'd set the law upon the cretin who hurt Fado, and, in that way, demonstrated that justice could still prevail in this world, mad as it was.

But the victory felt hollow, too. Fado's case had been solved, but much still had not changed. It might not ever change. The fears that plagued Robin's mind would never leave. Plegia was erupting into anarchy at this very moment. And the categorical injustice of the Substitute Culpability Clause still remained in place, despite the repeated demonstration of its ineffectiveness. Robin sighed, supposing he couldn't hope to fix all the world's ills in one night. Still, it would've made him feel better to know that there was _something_ he could do.

As his mind wandered, he also found himself thinking of what Renault had told him, and of the glimpses Gangrel had teased him with. It wasn't possible that they were lying—Gangrel wouldn't have done what he did if he wasn't who they believed he was. And now he would forever be saddled with that knowledge. The rightful heir to the throne of the Reformation government was lying on a sofa in an average-quality motel just a few miles outside the capital. And in a few hours, he'd leave the country.

Part of him considered going before the world and revealing the truth, and he supposed that someone might discover that information if they looked hard enough, but the more rational part of his brain told him he would never embrace that life even if it was offered to him. Gangrel was a man corrupted by anger and hated, but the reasons underlying that hatred were not entirely unfounded: the Reformation government was made up of the most callous kinds of opportunists at best and genuine backstabbers at worst. A throne held up by injustice was not one Robin had any intention of sitting on.

It might mean anarchy now, but Plegia would be able to determine its own fate. That was surely for the best.

Robin rolled his head around again and saw the green block numbers of a digital clock leering back at him. Four hours' sleep would probably be enough, right?

[November 10th, 8:12 am, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin turned around and pushed the door open as gently as he could with his rear as Anna came down the hall behind him. He swung through the door, balancing Morgan carefully in his arms. As soon as they entered, he took her to the spare room where her bed sat, and gently lowered her onto it. He waited a moment to ensure she wasn't disturbed, and when he heard her breathing softly, he backed up and shut the door to the room slowly behind him.

Anna walked over to her desk and sat down in her chair, propping up her laptop and phone, as well as their chargers. She looked back at Robin. "Well… I'll spare you from having to hear 'congratulations' again, but… you did well, Robin."

"Thanks." He let out a sigh. "It wasn't easy, but… I did it. We did it. I was so afraid, when I got that call… it seems like forever ago. I was afraid I was never going to find out why it happened. Never going to learn what happened. I would've just missed his last call, and—poof."

"But now you know. He trusted you with his life, Robin."

"I wish I could've—"

"Ah-ah. We're done with the wishing and the being sorry. He called you, knowing exactly how far away you were, knowing that you couldn't stop it, but that you could fix it after the damage was done. That's the kind of faith he had in you, Robin."

"Right… Every time I think of him, I still see him like I did when I was a scrappy little kid with no idea what was happening, when it seemed like he was ten feet tall. The idea of him relying on me for anything seems so remote…"

"Well, you've got people of your own relying on you now," Anna glanced at the spare room, "so there's no more room for doubt."

"Point taken." Robin paused and then smiled. "You know, for as much as Fado did for me, you're probably the biggest reason I'm still here, Anna."

"Oh, c'mon. That can't be true."

"It is, really. That night, after Pelleas's trial… that was easily the worst night of my life. And if you hadn't been there, who knows what kind of thoughts might've festered in my head. But you were around, even when you didn't need to be, and because of that… I had the courage to get through the night and make it to the next day. I can't express my gratitude for you always being there for me, Anna."

"O-Oh… um, d-don't worry about it. Happy to do it."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just… you're not usually quite so… expressive? Is that the word? You're usually more reserved about your feelings and all. You hide it under sarcasm and stuff. I can tell."

Robin took a few steps closer to her desk. "If I ever made you feel like I didn't care about you, I'm sorry."

"N-No! That's not what I meant! I was just trying to say you're not usually so… vulnerable."

Robin smiled. "It's a weird time. Forgive me my weird behavior while it's happening."

"I don't mind the change of pace." Anna laughed.

"This has to stay our little secret, though," Robin went on. "Can't have anyone thinking the head attorney is a nice guy."

Anna laughed more. "Oh no. Coldest bastard I ever met. Even his… hands… are…"

Robin looked down, noticing Anna's slip. In getting ever closer to her during their joking, he'd placed his hand on top of hers. The small, slim fingers beneath his own didn't resist, and they didn't surrender. He became very conscious of the warmth of his own palm pressing onto hers.

He turned his head back to Anna, finding her returning his stare.

[November 18th, 12:07 pm, Flower Airlines Flight 207]

Renault LeBlanc reclined back in his seat. He picked up a glass of room-temperature champagne from the tray table in front of him. He sipped it and thought of Robin and Fado as the bubbles fizzed down his esophagus. The legal world in Ylisse had a lot of growing left to do, of that he could be sure. Fado knew that. And Fado also knew that it would be in good hands with Robin LeBlanc leading the charge. Renault glanced out the window and saw the skyscrapers and rocky shores of Ylisse slipping away underneath him. It had been a while since he last felt so light.

Fado would be proud. Robin had proven himself worthy. Everything would be all right. That kid was so bright he could shed light on even the darkest corners of the legal world, no doubt.

A soft tone informed passengers there was to be an announcement. "Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We should be looking at a comfortable flight for most of our voyage, although we may run into some clouds as we make our descent. Make sure you have your jackets and umbrellas ready, because the weather is looking rainy on the other side. We'll arrive at our destination of Krakenburg in approximately six hours."

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ End]


End file.
